


Nyx

by spookyserpent



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Friendship, Love, M/M, Pain, Red Room, Torture, everyone makes an appearance - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2019-09-02 09:40:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16784419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyserpent/pseuds/spookyserpent
Summary: “Her hand, for the first time in decades, shakes as she holds the bloody knife. From across the snow covered ground, he stares at her, fear and anger and amusement all swimming together. He knows what her decision will be. It’s him or her. It’s hardly a decision at all. With teeth bared like a wild animal, she lunges for him.”Taegan Smith was nothing more than an average woman just trying to get through life.Nyx, the Ghost, the Shadow, the White Viper was nothing more than a bloodthirsty assassin, a myth who striked fear into the heart of every woman and man.Some days, she didn’t know which part of her was real: little Red Riding Hood or the Big Bad Wolf.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, I have no idea what I’m doing. 
> 
> No beta so help me, please 
> 
> Uh, mentions of abuse, torture, mindwipes, pain and Stucky feels

_'Because I'm with you 'till the end of the line.'_

Those words haunted the Soldier. It made his insides clench and his mind spin. How dare his mark, this stupid blond with his stupid face say those stupid words. It was a simple phrase, just a phrase goddamnit and yet they lifted the haze of his mindwipes. They made him see for the first time in years.

The blond man was his mission but he couldn't complete it. His programming screamed at him to just let the man drown. That way, at least he could say it wasn't his fault. At least his handlers wouldn't beat him for not killing him.

Instead he dived after the blond. He grabbed him and dragged him out of the Potomac. Pathetically waiting for him to breath. Who was he to kid himself that he was an assassin? He was weak. He was nothing, a nobody. He was going to be severely tortured for not following through. It didn't matter that just looking at the blond made memories spasm through his broken brain. His handlers wouldn't care. The last time he admitted to knowing him, they wiped him.

So he waited for the blond - Steve? Captain America? - to breath; waited for him to cough up water before he turned, right arm pressed to his chest in a hope to mend its brokenness, and walked towards the barricade of the trees.

The man wasn't his mark, no, he was Steve. Tiny Steve Rogers who turned into Captain America because the war called for a hero. Steve, the same boy who the Soldier would watch most winter nights in fear they'd be his last. Steve, the same boy who picked a fight with anyone because they were wrong. Steve, the man who would sneakily draw him in the late, Brooklyn sunset. Steve, his best friend.

Too engulfed in experiences he knew they would burn out of him, he forgot to check his surroundings. That was until he felt cold steel press against his temple. His left hand clenched and his back tensed, pausing to sense the threat. He was, however, shocked to discover the owner of the handgun was a petite woman, who appeared to be more breakable that frightening.

From the corner of his eye, he scanned the woman, taking note of the sharp, hazel eyes and non-wavering hand. Her stance was that of a soldier and he realised that he familiarised her with Peggy Carter. Was the British dame alive today? He paused. How long was he under cyro? Days, years, decades?

To stop the memories, and terrifying thoughts of years lost, he once again focused on the woman. She was young, possibly mid-twenties but it wasn't her age, or stunning curves or the fact that even with boots she didn't reach his shoulder that registered in the Soldier's brain. No, all of his attention was firmly on her brightly-coloured hair. It was pulled back into a tight, high ponytail but the waves - God, they looked so soft - reached mid-back with some flowing over her shoulder. Her hair was a deep purple, mixed in with dark and light blues, dotted with pinks and reds. It looked like a galaxy had woven itself into her head.

"What's your name?" She spoke and holy shit was it a beautiful sound. Melodic but firm. A hundred percent British too, with a soft underlay of probably Irish. Jesus Christ, it wasn't like she was the first woman he'd ever seen before but yet here he was, The Winter Fucking Soldier, acting like a teenager because of a beautiful woman with a gun.

He slowly shook his head, careful to not spike a reaction out of her. Despite being a shit assassin when it came to completing his missions, he knew enough about body language and how to tell if someone was prepared to fire a weapon to know the threat beside him. Her hands didn't shake. Her eyes were firm. She would shoot him.

"I don't know." He replied, calm but he lost the strong edge. He sounded weak. He sounded upset. He heard her sigh and suddenly the metal left the side of his head.  
"You move," she said, "you die."

Without another glance his way, she took a step back and then began to walk in the direction of Steve. He should move. He knew that. He had two options: take her by surprise, grab the gun and shoot her; or, sprint away and use the shrubbery as cover. Instead, he stayed exactly where he was, like the good, little, trained assassin that he was.

He did, however, spin around and inspect her closely as she crouched down and placed her forefinger and middle finger against the side of Steve's neck. She breathed a sigh of relief and grabbed a cylindrical item from her pocket, stabbing it into the other side of his neck. He was moving before he could stop himself.

"I'm not hurting him," she said to him, and he paused to watch Steve's body relax. "It's a form of anaesthetic." She placed the item back onto her back jean pocket and stood, forest eyes connecting with his ocean ones.  
"You have a choice," and wow, that was new. He'd never had a choice before. "You can either stay here and get shot at by SHIELDRA or you can tag along with me and I'll get you somewhere safe."

He stared at the woman in front of him, dressed in tight, blue jeans, a large, dusty pink sweater and large, combat boots as she pulled out a phone from her other back pocket. Her skin was extremely pale, almost deathly and her face was soft and round. He inspected her with a fine eye as she held the phone to her ear and began to speak.

"Maria, he's here. Side of the river, multiple injuries, non-fatal. Although, come to look at his pretty, pale face, I'd hurry." She paused and then stifled a laugh, her eyes deeply amused. "Piss off, Agent. The whole point of me is that I clean up their messes and stay off the radar. Have fun dealing with this shitstorm while I round up Erik and take on the rest of the HYDRA wankers."

She ended the call and looked up at him. "I'm Taegan, in case you were wondering. What's it going to be?"  
He simply stared at her and then asked the question that had been burrowing away in his brain from the moment she appeared silently beside him.  
"Why are you helping me?" His voice was still hoarse but not as weak. Good.

At that, the woman - Taegan - laughed. "Really? You turning down my brilliant offer because your worried I'm going to stab you in the back?" She gave him one last look and began to dance away from him with an elegant sway of her hips. It appeared that all her movements were fluid and faerie-like.

Over her shoulder, she called, "you're the one with a giant, metal arm, buddy. I'd rather not be on the receiving end of that thing again, thank you very much. Your loss really, I'm a catch."  
Again? He'd hurt her before and she was still alive? And wanting to help him? He violently shook his head and against his better judgment, began to stalk after her. No way was he letting the mysterious woman escape him, especially not a second time.

"Don't shoot me and I won't snap your neck," he whispered once he caught up and she sent him a blinding, cheeky grin. Her teeth had a slight gap in the front and her ears were covered in earrings. He could also see a tattoo peaking out from behind her right ear.

"Okay, snowflake, I agree to those terms." She hopped over a log and then paused to look at him. Her gaze was intense and methodical, like she could see right through his tough exterior and deep into all of his barely hidden cracks. He wondered if she was going to ask if he remembered his name - _James Buchanan Barnes_ \- of if he worked for HYDRA - _yes, I'm the Winter Soldier_ \- but she didn't. Instead, a soft smile graced her pink lips and she said the words that made him reconsider if she was a fairy or an angel.

"Do you like pancakes?"


	2. Chapter 1

Soft flutterings of snow fell delicately onto the frozen ground below. The trees did not strain under the pressure, nor did they flinch when a light breeze floated through their branches. There were no sounds to indicate life. Birds had silenced. Wolves hackles rose. Deer disappeared into the undergrowth. A predator was amongst their midst. 

Creeping through a thicket of trees, a woman stalked towards her intended prey with deadly accuracy. Despite the depth of the snow, her boots make no sound and her shallow breathing faded into the wind. She was only covered in three layers yet the cold never seeped into her bones. Instead, the thrill of the hunt lit her veins alight. 

A lone wolf, the alpha, lifted his head from his paws as she passed. With a tilt of her head and an animalistic stare, the wolf let out a tiny whine and retreated back into his pack. The woman smelt of death. Not even a hungry wolf with a twenty-something pack would dare pick a fight with a creature like that. 

Lips twitching at the sight, the woman edged forward, catching a glimpse of her target. The cobbled building stood alone, its battered exterior leading anyone careless enough to stumble upon it believe it was abandoned, empty. The woman knew better. Smashed windows and battered rock meant nothing when it came to hiding something. Especially something big. 

She slithered along the main wall, ducking reflexively under the windows, both boarded up and broken. Pausing at the crimson painted double doors, she flexed her palms, feeling the blades slide from her gauntlets and briefly glide along her skin.

Taking a breath, she slowly pushed the door open, hearing the creak echo down the long, winding hallway. With every step, ghosts sprouted up from the ground, each having their own story to tell. The woman paid no attention to them. 

She prowled the halls, double-checking each room she came upon. Doubt settled in her gut as they all came up empty. Truly, the only creatures that walked the building now were ghosts. Maybe the whispers had been lying but-

A noise. Quiet. Impossibly so but she’d been trained to anticipate the silent. Those who made sound were amateurs. Adrenaline sent a wave of heat throughout her numb body and she immediately began to stalk in the direction of the noise. 

She kept her centre of gravity low, her footsteps silent, her breath barely passing her red lips. Approaching the door to the ballet studio, she stilled. For all she knew, she was being drawn here to be captured or killed. She nearly laughed. How stupid. 

Pulling out the gun with the silencer on it from her harness across her chest, she edged around the room and didn’t bother to ask before shooting. 

Within seconds, three were down. Someone lunged from behind her and she feinted left before spinning around the large body and shooting them in the stomach and then head. Wiping the blood from her face she took a second to pause as footsteps echoed down the hall. 

A stream of people, all dressed in tactical gear. If the red octopus on their outfits said anything, she’d have to take a wild guess and assume they’re HYDRA. With the lethal grace of a leopard pouncing, she started to rain hell and high heaven on them. 

Like a beat to a song, she kicked and punched and shot, striking with the accuracy of a venomous snake. The minute her gun was empty, she thrust her hidden daggers out, jamming them into any visible skin. 

Blood spouted from necks and thighs, staining the floor a deep scarlet as they fell, each of her strikes ended with the blades severing arteries. The tactical team never had a chance. 

One remained, a man with deep brown eyes and a thick beard, wobbling where he stood from the deep gouge in his jugular. The woman didn’t hesitate. She charged him, legs wrapping around his neck in a death grip. With a jerk from her muscular thighs, his neck snapped and he fell to the ground in a bleeding, broken heap. 

She rubbed her pale hands on her jeans and stared at the pile of corpses. Placing all of their faces into a tightly sealed box, she compartmentalised her work. No need to get sentimental over Nazis. 

Picking up her discared gun from the pool of blood, she reloaded it and then began to stalk through the rest of the building. 

Along the way, she encountered scientific tech but no scientists. In fact, the rest of the building was as empty as the day it was built. Apart from the few HYDRA rookies she met, ghosts remained the only beings present. 

That was until she came upon one final bedroom. Nudging the door open, the barrel led first. Scanning the room, the metal bed frame, the dirty rug, the ripped drapes, nothing was out of place. Yet, something was wrong. 

Maybe it was the coldness of the room as though a presence still remained there. Maybe it was the handcuffs tightened on the bed frame. Maybe it was the crimson bedsheets carefully pressed and positioned. 

Only then did she spot the letter upon one of the bedside cabinets. Edging towards it, in carefully delicate fingers, she picked it up. The letter’s paper was expensive and there was no name sprawled on the folded side. 

Slowly, she opened it up and began to read the elegant script, only to feel it slip out of her hand. Breath, half-stuck in her throat, choked her as she collapsed heavily onto the wall behind her, the window pane digging painfully into her back. She desperately clutched her gun to her chest as sobs clawed themselves out and tears soaked her cheeks. 

It couldn’t be true. The letter had to be lying. 

‘Natalia,  
Welcome back.’

•••

“Um, hello Ma’am, do you you speak English?” Captain America asks, face pinched as he stares at her with confusion. Well, that makes two of them. Taegan Smith stares back, wondering how the hell Steve Rogers has her address and more importantly why.  
“Da,” she replies, perfect Russian accent in place as she peaks at him from behind her door, gun held tightly beside her.  
“Are you Katya Ivanovo?”  
Technically she is: it’s one of her old covers. “Da.”

In all honesty, hearing the knock on the door sent a spike of adrenaline spiralling through her veins, lighting the fires deep within as she grabbed the firearm and slowly cranked it open. No one should know about her safe house, hidden within the depths of St Petersburg’s. Only those she trusts - she can count those people on one hand - yet here he stands. 

Sam Wilson, the Falcon, is perched at his left-hand side, looking at her with mild interest. She eyes him back, making sure all her movement appear non-threatening, polite but slightly fearful. The art of deception is a fine line to walk but she wears that woman like a second skin. 

“A friend,” the Captain coughs and his blue eyes dart around the empty corridor, “told me that you could help me out.”  
Ever the gentlemen, he waits for her to let him in but he shouldn’t know about her, or this place. 

“I do not know you,” she replies slowly, carefully, “I am pretty sure none of my friends are your friends.”  
He shifts uncomfortably. “I am Steve Rogers, this is Sam Wilson. Do you know a Natasha Romanoff?”  
Ah. Reflexively, she clutches the gun tighter. “The Black Widow.” His face bunches up awkwardly and Wilson’s lips twitch. “I have heard of her. I do not know her personally.” 

From behind her, she hears the tell tale sign of Nana waking up. The old woman, more fierce than anyone Taegan had ever met, lived within the confines of the apartment. With a sigh, knowing she cannot speak about Natalia through a door, she opens the door wider and lets them in, smiling when both men raise their eyebrows at her. 

Depositing the gun in the cabinet draw, she shuts and locks the door, following the men into her living room.  
“Please,” she gestures to the couch, “take a seat. Tea? Coffee?”  
“No, thank you, Ma’am,” Rogers replies and Wilson shakes his head.  
“I’m good, Ma’am.” 

“So,” she says after a moment of letting them get their fill of her. Compared to their layers, she wears only a pair of ripped, grey jeans and a white sweater; her dyed caramel hair pulled into a messy bun. “Why are you asking me about the Black Widow?”  
“She suggested you,” Rogers replies, desperately trying to relax into her blue couch. It’s almost comical how awkward he looks.  
“I do not understand,” Russian accent firmly in place as Nana bustles around her bedroom. She guesses the men have about two minutes before the old woman graces them with her presence. 

“We’re looking for a friend of mine,” he continues and suddenly looks very out his depth. His eyes scan her apartment and Sam snorts.  
“Man, I told you this was a bad idea.”  
“Why because Nat waited a year and a battle to suggest I start searching for this woman?”  
“I’m pretty sure Barton suggested this, not Natasha.”

Taegan gives them the illusion of privacy as she boils herself a cup of tea. They whisper back and forth as though the metres between them mean anything. She turns to watch, half-listening to them bicker and half-listening to Nana make her bed.

Once the kettle has boiled and she she has added too much milk and sugar - it’s a luxury - she rests against the door frame and the men’s conversation abruptly halts. Before she can speak, Nana stalks out of her bedroom, a soft dress covering her withered body. 

Still, despite pushing eighty, she fits both men with a glare that has Taegan withdrawing slightly. Her dark chocolate eyes freeze the men as she tilts her soft, grey head in the other woman’s direction. 

“Do you want me to get the shotgun?” She asks in perfect Russian, her face never conveying any emotion except boredom.  
Taegan slowly shakes her head, sips her tea. “No. I need to work out how they knew about this place first.”  
“If we have to move, you’re paying for it. I want them gone by the time I’m back.”

With that, Nana brushes a hand along Taegan’s back and then walks out of the apartment, slamming the door as she leaves. It’s moments like those that Taegan remembers Nana was once a wife to the leader of the Bratva. 

“She’s my grandmother,” Taegan easily lies, English once again. “Have you been searching for me? You seemed surprised when I opened the door.”  
Wilson jumps in before Rogers can, “Natasha gave us three locations: one in Mexico, one in Macau and here. There was no one at the other two.” 

She frowns. Jesus, that’s two of her safe houses she’s now going to burn to the ground. Now this one and she likes this one. Then there’s the added trouble of getting Nana to move and paying for it. Seems she’s going to have go out and get another job. 

With a groan, she snarls, “and why isn’t Romanov here, hmm?” Both of their eyes grow comically large but goddamn, she doesn’t care. “No offence, but if you don’t tell me why you’re actually here, I’m going to dick punch the both of you and leave you for the rats.” 

“Woah- hold up,” Wilson stammers, hands wide in a surrender, “you do know her, don’t you?”  
“Not the answer I’m looking for,” she snarks back, barely keeping the predator inside as she plots her next move. First Macau, step up another on the other side of town. Then Mexico, Rico won’t mind taking the house off of her.

“Do you know the Winter Soldier?” Rogers asks and she’s trained enough to not freeze at those words because no way in hell is she selling out Barnes.  
She snorts. “You mean the Russian legend? Baba Yaga, the boogeyman? Why would I know him?”  
“Natasha thinks you know and I’m betting if she’s right - and she always is - you’re more than you’re letting on,” he starts and Taegan rolls her eyes.  
“Sorry but hunting for the bogeyman is not something I do, Romanov be damned. You want me to find him, you get me a meeting with her.” She stares at them. Hard. “If you’re smart, don’t mention the Winter Soldier around here. A lot of folk want to find him, not just HYDRA.” 

Opening her door, she slowly ushers them out, both men quickly leaving. Steve stops by the door and gives her a puppy-dog eyes.  
“I just want to know if he’s okay, I just want to find him,” he tries and she stares right back.  
“That’s your first mistake, Captain, what if he doesn’t want to be found?”

•••

Blood soaked the snow a harsh crimson as snowflakes pelted the ground. A wolf’s howl broke through the crisp air. The darkness surrounded them. 

“Yelena,” the woman hissed, knife dripping red. “I don’t want to hurt you.”  
The blonde woman’s face split, her mouth an ugly, open wound, baring her sharp teeth. She pressed a skeletal hand against her waist.  
“How did you know?” 

The woman slowly rose from her crouch, her own lips spreading to bare her teeth. Between her frozen fingers, the knife clattered into the ground.  
“You were trained better than that,” she replied, gesturing to the fallen body surrounded by red snow. “Spiderlings used to be subtle. Do you remember that?” 

With a snarl, the blonde lunged, fingers curled into claws, lips pulled over her teeth. They’re bodies clashed, a bang echoing through the silent trees. 

•••

“Nattie,” Taegan chastities, pressing the hidden blade against her neck, feeling the red-haired woman freeze. “Arriving here was a bad idea.” 

Her apartment in New York is tiny and cosy and everything she imagines when thinking of a young woman’s flat. Opposite her tiny one is Wade Wilson’s, the insane Merc with a Mouth. Ever since they met - it’s a long story including the fine detail of finding him in a dumpster with only one leg and a gaping hole in his chest - they’d immediately connected. He acts like a protective older brother to her and for that, she’s forever grateful. Normally, he’d take care of the issue if someone snuck into her apartment but even she hadn’t picked up on the disturbance until she unlocked the door. Then, it was only a matter of time to press her blade into the attackers neck before the woman could know.

“Taegan,” Natasha starts, carefully raising her hands. “Allies, remember?”  
She presses the blade harder into her skin. “See, that’s the issue. I have no idea if I can trust you, Natalia.”  
Natasha’s body locks. “I haven’t been Natalia for a long time.” 

Taegan pulls back and watches as Natasha turns, hands still raised slightly, knowing that Taegan wouldn’t hesitate if she believed the red-head was compromised.

She stands, an inch of so, shorter than Natasha but somehow still looks more menacing. Deep-down, she knows that she can trust Natasha. The woman had always been a close friend of hers, their SHIELD days spent discussing their pasts but they’re back. At this moment, she can only trust the woman as far as she can throw her.

Tilting her head like a cat, she inquires, “what happened on the eighth?”  
Natasha answers with no hesitation. “If you’re talking about the November before you left SHIELD, then you stole Clint’s arrows on a dare and ended up nearly stabbing him when he jumped from a vent to scare you.” 

Instantly Taegan’s posture relaxes and she sends Natasha a bashful smile. “I had to check.” She then gestures to the hallway around them. “What’re you doing here, Nattie?

Natasha stares back at her. “I have questions.”  
“Lovely, I don’t think I have the answers.” Taegan replies and Natasha spares her a feline grin.  
“I think you do.”

Taegan let the silence stretch as she scans the red-head. Compared to her right jeans and baggy hoodie, Natasha wears her subtle spy outfit of leggings, a red-top and a leather jacket. She’s covered in weapons but Taegan never got the title of best assassin for being scared of weaponry. After a couple of minutes, she uncharacteristically relents first, bored of Natasha’s inquisitive stare. 

“I’m guessing you’ve heard the whispers too?”  
Natasha nods. “They told me to run and hide.”  
“And so you run into the danger,” Taegan shakes her head. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“Is that why your so trigger happy?” Natasha suddenly spits and Taegan scrunches her face up, fixing the woman with a very, unimpressed eyebrow.  
“Oh, I’m sorry that I had to double check that the fucking Black Widow wasn’t about to snap my neck. I may be good but so are you, Nattie. I’d rather not die by your thighs.”  
“To die by my thighs would be a honour, you ignorant bitch.” Taegan barks out a laugh and gives Natasha the finger. God, she truly has missed the woman. 

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re here though, Tash.” She says after another moment of silence. “I know I asked Rogers for a meeting but I thought he took my empty flat as a clear sign to leave me the fuck alone.”  
Natasha’s face scrunches up and then she drags a hand through her hair. “Fuck it, we need you.”  
She definitely wasn’t expecting that, her eyebrows shoot up. “Um, I really don’t know how to respond to that if I’m being honest.”

“You may not know where, but I’d place all of my money on you knowing something about the Soldier.”  
Taegan snorts. “You’re losing a lot of money then.”  
“Plus you know something about the whispers I’ve heard all over about, well, you know what.” Natasha says with an eye-roll and Taegan sighs. Of course she’d want information on the Red Room making a reappearance. Slowly, she tugs a calm mask upon her face. 

“The last remaining Vipers,” she begins, the emotion clipped from her voice and replaced with cool indifference, “are disappearing. A couple of them have already been found dead. They all clearly struggled.” Taegan pauses and then locks eyes with Natasha, a scorching rage burning through her calmness. “All were left with a message, inked into their skin. ‘Welcome back.’”  
Natasha stares, wide-eyed. “Anything else?”  
“Well at first I guessed it was HYDRA pissed at the Vipers, considering the minute SHIELDRA was outed, I sent a mass text saying the last one to the Nazi bastards was a sissy.” She grins at Natasha’s shocked look. “The Avengers have so many rules. I don’t. So while you’ve been sitting on your arses trying to hunt down the Soldier, I joined the Vipers up, along with Erik’s mutants and systematically burnt their organisation to the ground. Why else do you think most of them rolled over the minute you got there?” 

“I thought it was because they knew better,” Natasha comments and Taegan can barely resist the snigger rising. The Avengers don’t think they’re scary, do they? “Not because they were threatened by your presence.”  
Her hazel eyed darken. “I’m cute like that... Anyway, I suspected it was just the Vipers but considering how tiny the population of Widows are, I didn’t quite comprehend why all of them suddenly vanished from the radar.”  
Natasha stands suddenly, eyes darting around the room to scan her exits and Taegan doesn’t intervene, knowing what the woman opposite her is feeling. “That’s why you double checked me, isn’t it? Because they’re recruiting the old Widows.”

Taegan withholds the wince and instead flexes her fingers. She doesn’t know how to say it in a reassuring way because there isn’t one. They truly are back and people are dying and she is completely out of her depths. It’s moments like this she wishes she’d chosen a life of relaxation like her friend Anya: disappear off of the radar, get married and only do a couple of odd jobs here and there. She knows, however, that person isn’t her. Taegan Smith was never built for normal.

“That’s not the worst of it, Red.” She says in a blunt, unforgiving way. Neither of their lives were created for pleasantries. “They’re not just recruiting the old ones. According to a very intellectual source within the Russian government, they’ve restarted the Red Room.”  
“How many?” Natasha asks, numbly. Taegan knows this is the precise reason she kept going back to check the buildings. They’d both been praying for this never to happen again but they’d also been taught that Gods did not exist.  
“Fifty girls,” Taegan replies, her face an emotionless mask. “Taken from orphanages and off the street.”

And just like that, she watches the Black Widow crumble. The steady foundation of her falling to pieces beneath the weight of knowledge. 

Taegan slowly approaches her, arms wide in a non-threatening sigh and Natasha just falls. They end up on the floor, pressed into the wall as Natasha grips Taegan so tightly, the woman swears she can feel her healing start to kick in. No tears are shed. No soothing words whispered. No hugs of apology. Instead they hold each other while the wave of agony passes. 

After five minutes; Natasha mutters from the crook of Taegan’s neck, “I know you don’t want to help but please...”  
The brunette suddenly realises why Natasha is called the Black Widow. The woman is irresistible and adorable and begging... 

Taegan huffs, well aware what Natasha’s doing and not caring about it. “You minx. Fine but if any of them does anything I don’t like, I’m high-tailing out of them and you can deal with Soldier and Widow situation alone.”  
“Fair enough,” she breathes back and then chuckles.  
“What?” Taegan asks, oddly terrified of the answer. 

Natasha pulls herself off of the ground and straightens her jacket, Taegan quickly jumping up after her, raising a hesitant eyebrow.

“I knew you knew about him.”  
Taegan lets out a loud, pained groan while Natasha bursts out laughing, darting from the room with Taegan on her heels. 

“Fuck you!”


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the following chapters are going to be unedited so sorry about the mistakes

Soft music floated from the new speakers fitted as the young girls and boys danced in time. They’re movements were fluid, professional despite their young age. Yet they appeared more robotic, the movements ingrained into their brains. There was no improvisation. 

Heels clicked from down the halls and immediately the music cut off, the Handler in the room stilling the children with a simple hand raise. They fell back and ducked their heads. 

In walked the Headmistress, her face oddly soothing as she assessed the room. Her freezing gaze fell upon one of the girls and a serpent smile slithered upon her red lips. 

“Alice,” she spoke with authority and immediately the blonde girl’s head snapped up but didn’t make eye-contact, nor did she speak. Neither were allowed until given explicit information to do so.  
“Would you mind showing your skills off with Robert?” The question was rhetorical, but she nodded nonetheless. Down the line, a brunet boy also nodded his head and together, they stepped forward, into the middle of the room. 

“Go.” The Headmistress commanded and with sudden ferocity, Robert slammed into Alice, throwing her body to ground. Well, he would of done if she hadn’t darted out of the way. He didn’t, however, stumble when met with air instead of a body, no, he spun around with a sharp kick to her stomach. Yet again, she moved, efficiently dodging every hit he sent her way. 

Within a minute, he was trying to withhold his pants while her face remained bored. While he was strong, she was fast and as long as she kept dodging, he would never get a hit. 

“Alice,” the Headmistresses voice sliced through the silence of the prowling children, “as much as I congratulate you on your tactics, it’s him or you.” 

All of the students suddenly tensed, knowing exactly what the Headmistress meant. This wasn’t just a fight, no, this was a fight to the death. 

With added enthusiasm, the little girl suddenly charged at the boy, kicking and punching, using every method she’d ever been taught to take him down. It didn’t take long at all for his body to fall, her knee crushing into his spine and her hands wrapped tight around his neck. 

She looked up at the teacher, titling her head for commands when the woman nodded.  
“Do it, Alice,” her motherly voice caressed the air, “there are no failures in the Vipers. We take no prisoners.” 

The young girl stared down at the boy in her grasp. Robert. His soft, curly brown hair. His wide but not scared brown eyes. A cut beneath his left brow. A bruise forming on his cheek. The boy that sat beside her in math. The boy that was slowly growing facial hair. The boy that never missed the bullseye. He was competition and this was a game of death where only one would walk out alive. Natural selection: only the fittest survived. 

She gave a hard tug, a snap echoing through the silent room. Standing, his lifeless eyes followed the movement and for a split second, she wondered why she was going this. That was until her eyes connected with the hungry eyes of the students. 

Survival. The only thing that mattered now. It wasn’t like his death was the first to stain her young hands red. 

••• 

Clint Barton stands, resting against the elevators doors with sunglasses thrown across his face like he totally isn’t scouting out the entirety of Stark Industry’s lobby. Taegan knows the precise moment that he spots the pair because he suddenly tenses. A smile tugs at his face as he removes the glasses and secures them on his shirt but he doesn’t move to meet them. 

He looks the same as he always did: messy blond hair, assessing blue eyes, purple hearing aids in and a plaster placed across his nose. 

“Pigeon,” she starts and beside her, Nat smothers a chuckle. “Are you going to give me a hug or am I going to have to rebreak your nose?”  
His stance relaxes and drops his crosses arms position and opens them wide for her to run into. “I’d rather you didn’t, Tea.” 

She melts into his warmth and he tightens his arms across her shoulder blades, pushing and pulling her closer. Breathing him in is like staring down the sniper sight at the gangster in Russia, it’s like the cigarettes shared in the cold mornings when the nightmares were too much, it’s like the sparing sessions spent in SHIELDS basement. 

“I’ve fucking missed you,” his voice is tight and deep and she would swear he’s crying but she knows he’s not. Not in the public. Not near cameras. She nods and brushes her nose against his neck.  
“You sold out my address, you dick,” she whispers back because she doesn’t do sentimentality. Not really. Only in her thoughts does she whisper, I’ve missed you too, I’ve missed you both so goddamn much. 

Thankfully, he knows her well enough to know she won’t speak the words he’s after. Instead she feels the laughter rather than hears it and he tugs her impossibly closer. 

“Sorry about that,” he says in a obviously non-apologetic tone, “but we needed you so...”  
She takes a minute to absorb him, the relish his warmth and his comfort and his overall Clint-ness and then she pulls away and steps into the elevator, already accommodating Natasha.  
“It was either that or find Wade and he would never sell you out,” he continues and Natasha stares at the ceiling as the doors close.  
“And he doesn’t properly feel pain so torturing him would be useless,” she finishes. “FRIDAY, take us up to main floor, please.”  
“Off course, Agent Romanoff.” 

Taegan does not startle but she does eye the ceiling with added intensity that has Clint belting out laughter until she speaks, “I thought Stark had JARVIS?”  
“How-“ he cuts himself off and rubs a hand down his face, careful to not touch his nose. “I actually don’t want to know.”  
She grins at him. “Lovely.” 

They ride the rest of the way in silence and none of them fidget, not even Clint who looks like he has a song in his head. Taegan takes the time to adjust to Rose: quiet, polite and slightly clumsy. Natasha sees it because he hand slowly snakes across to her wrist and squeezes. You don’t have to pretend, the squeeze says but Taegan knows better. Facing a bunch of superheroes that could easily overpower her is not a fight she wants to enter half-blind with all of weaknesses spread out for them to see. 

The doors creak open and Taegan takes half a second to assess the complete room littered with people. The floor has different levels, a couple of stairs leading to three massive couches huddled around a coffee table. A bar sits to the side on a higher level and the entirety of the north wall is glass. Literally all glass. 

Multiple pairs of eyes begin to size her up but she keeps glancing at her surroundings. She guesses the windows would be a bulletproof so jumping out of one of them is a definite no. There is, however, a door behind the bar and an archway into what appears to be a kitchen. 

“So you must be Natashalie’s dodgy friend,” Tony motherfucking Stark says, approaching the trio with a drink in hand and retro glasses covering his face. Taegan takes a second to stare because it’s Tony Stark and then smiles her charming smile.  
“Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Stark.” She doesn’t hold her hand up for a handshake but she does give him a tiny wave before looking at the others. “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you, actually. I’m trying not to fan girl.”  
“Holy shit, you’re British?” Sam Wilson asks, head peaking up from he couch. “And your name’s Taegan? I swear it was Katya?”

“It was a cover,” Natasha answers for her.  
“We still haven’t had that talk on how you found out about St Petersburg,” Taegan says and Clint winces. Immediately her eyes narrow on him.  
“Pigeon, please tell me you didn’t sell me out again?”  
He winces again and jumps to defend himself. “SHIELD fell! I needed to find some people I actually trusted and Kate wouldn’t speak but Barney-“  
“-it was Barney?” She spits, already plotting the ways she’s going to make him squeal.  
“Hey! No torturing my big bro, he told me to look for you because we all trust you and gave me some contacts-“  
“-Clint,” she says in a sickly sweet tone, immediately shutting him, well aware of the current audience. Threatening people isn’t Rose but polite and terrifying is Mina. “We’re going to have a lovely conversation later,” he winces and Natasha pats him on the back before moving towards the couch, “but for now, mind introducing me to your team?” 

“Don’t act like you don’t know them,” he grumbles but backtracks the minute her creepy smile appears. “I mean, everyone! Taegan, meet Tony, Steve, Sam-“  
“-we’ve already met,” Steve Rogers mutters, eyes narrowed on her and it’s unsettling to say the least. He’s the media’s sweetheart and was calm and non-threatening the last time they met. She pouts at him but his stance just tightens further. “Did you not think that telling us about yourself would help?”  
She pretends to think about it. “Uh, no. I’m only here to make sure the Red Room doesn’t come back. Then I go back to my flat.” 

He stares at her, trying to make sense of the contradiction that is her while she smiles back. It’s cute that he thinks she’ll suddenly spill everything. He’s pretty, she won’t lie, but she’s never once lost composure over a pretty face. 

“Anyway,” Clint continues, “that Pietro, Wanda, Vision, Rhodey and Bruce. Thor isn’t here right now but if you stay any longer than a month, you’ll meet him.”  
She lets the dreamy look fill her eyes. “I can’t wait to meet him. I have so many questions about myth expectation and myth reality.”

Clint snorts. “Only you, Tee.”  
“What?” She grumbles. “I can state the obvious if you’d like?”  
“What do you know about the Red Room?” Rogers interrupts Clint from opening his mouth and Taegan turns expectantly. “Listening to you two bicker was not on the agenda of today.”  
“No,” she muses, “but let me guess: run around the block, breakfast, sparring, dinner, down time, tea, sleep, repeat.” 

Rogers stares at her, his lips parted and for a second, she pauses to truly soak up the image of making Captain America freeze and then Maximoff one speaks. 

“How-“ he whispers and she grins back, noting down his facial expression and how similar it is to Erik Lensherrs.  
“-thanks for confirming,” she replies then claps her hands together. “I don’t know who is in charge or what they want but I can take a very obvious guess. How much do they know, Nattie?”

“Enough.” Comes the cryptic response and Taegan rolls her eyes.  
“Detailed. Madame B would be my first guess-“  
“-she’s dead.” Natasha hisses and Taegan spins to face the red-head.  
“Technically, Captain over there is dead. His bestie is dead. Hell, if we’re going on that basis, I shouldn’t be here, nor should have of this team.”  
“I shot her in the face,” Nat points out.  
“I shot Wade three times this morning and yet I’m pretty sure if I ring him, he’ll pick up and talk my ear off.”  
“She doesn’t have superhealing-“  
“-Jesus Christ, does she need to? I swear you’ve met Bond. He’s different every time we meet.” 

Rogers coughs and Taegan briefly catches Clint’s narrowed eyes. How he, a man that has authoritative issues, deals with that everyday astounds her. Slowly turning, she gives Rogers her best apologetic smile. 

“Madame B is what the assassins in the room will know as a Handler. These are the people that you report to at the end of the day, they train you and know you more than you know yourself.” She pauses. “I suppose Phil Coulson was kind of a Handler.” Taking in all of their vacant stares, obviously they don’t know he’s alive like come on, Nat, you leaked the goddamn information yourself, she continues. “Moving on, Madame B, who was shot in the face but is still kicking, would be my first guess for kickstarting the Red Room but I’m well aware it isn’t her.”  
“Then who?” Rogers asks and she looks away from Nat because the next words that pour out of her mouth are going to sting. 

“There is only one man that could efficiently pull the Red Room together again. Nikolai.”

•••

He was a mountain, built and sturdy and intimidating in the way you know he is made of strong rock. Rain splattered his midnight hair and his serpents eyes never wavered as he stared at the young woman in front of him. 

“Alice,” his voice floated across the distance between them, slapping her in the face. “My little girl. My perfect, White Viper. You’ve succeeded where the others have failed. Now there is only the graduation process.”

She stood, tiny and shaking and dripping blood. Her blonde hair was fading pink, her clothes in tatters and her body already healing the light cuts and bruises. 

The wind chilled her bones, the frozen, muddy ground leaving her feet aching, the rain felt foreign against her damp body. She flexed the fingers in her right hand, definitely broken and exhaustion crept up from the recesses of her mind but she didn’t move. She couldn’t. She was a White Viper. 

Nikolai waved his hand and a nurse appeared, syringe filled with amber liquid in her hand. The girl did not move, nor did she flinch when the nurse stabbed it into her neck. Only when the fluid swam through her veins, setting fire to her nerves did she collapse into a heap. 

Writhing, she was in a maze, hunted by a wolf with sharp teeth and a face so kind. Blood poured from her mouth, her nose, her eyes. Every bone broken. Ever nerve alight. Every breath halted. She was drowning. She was burning. She was dying. Alone. In a suddenly terrifying forest with red eyes staring at her. Never had she wanted her mother more. 

The wolf approached, teeth bared, slit eyes staring at her. How can a wolf and a snake be in the same body? The snake slithered closer until it’s fangs pressed into her neck, poison staining her blood. 

“If you live,” it hissed. Or did it growl? “You will be the best. If you die,” she couldn’t see, couldn’t shout, couldn’t move as the predator held her down, ripping into her flesh, tearing her apart, “then you were never meant for this life. Good luck, Alice. You’re going to need it.” 

•••

His name hangs in the air. The rest of the Avengers stare at Taegan expectantly, obviously wondering why she’s fallen silent on a simple name. Taegan does not look at them. She instead finally flicks her hazel eyes to meet Natasha’s frozen, emerald ones. 

She’s still and silent and seemingly the same but Taegan could read Natasha Romanoff from the minute she met Natalia Romanova. The slight, malnourished red-head, who watched everyone and stared Nick Fury down; who allowed an overall messy blond to lead her into enemy lines; who tried to hide how shocked she was when another assassin immediately jumped to her aid, defending her as though they were sisters. 

Taegan tilts her head and it takes a minute before Clint notices the vacant look in Nat’s eyes. She starts talking. 

“Nikolai, Russian Intelligence, trained the Black Widows. He had the creepy gift of persuasion.” She resists the urge to shake off his hands, his breath, the linger of his presence from her mind. It’s safe, Charles Xavier had muttered, a month after her defection when she kept staring at the children playing, wouldn’t move into a room without Logan or Erik or Jean there to stop her if necessary. No ones ever getting in your mind again. “He wouldn’t be my first guess considering an incident that happened after Nattie left but no one else would be able to pull it off.”

“Incident?” Steve and Clint ask at the same time despite Clint’s attention being solely unrecovered Nat. Taegan can’t blame her, Nikolai was definitely one of the Handlers she hated.  
“Yeah,” and she carefully words the following statement, “there was a big issue with authority and security in the Red Room when Nat deflected. Everyone knew that the Americans, with the right info, would raid the base. A couple of Handlers trying to rise within the ranks began to kill off their superiors to prove their worth when the Americans came. Nikolai’s daughter was killed. He disappeared after that.” 

“Presumed dead?” Tony asks and she nods.  
“All of his stuff was left at the base so everyone assumed that one of the young ones either killed him or he couldn’t deal with the death of his daughter.” 

She knows him too well to know that’s not the reason he left. His daughter was beautiful and young and weak. For the daughter of a undercover Russian official, she was a liability that he never corrected until that night. When they found her, midnight locks sprawled on a pavement, red marks covering her neck, icy eyes staring straight, he was already gone. 

Nikolai was hiding something, that much was certain and his daughter knew to much. 

“He can,” Maximoff Two begins, eyes flicking to her brothers and landing on Rogers, “persuade people? Is he like me?”  
Taegan focuses her attention on the young girl, answering before the Soldier can. “You’re ability is mental manipulation and pisonics?”  
She gapes. “How- What?”  
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Taegan deflects. “He doesn’t have that, he’s not a mutant by any means and I’ve met Killgrave, he isn’t anything like that. It’s more of an irresistible urge to please him, I guess. If he says jump, your first response would be how high.”  
“Can he stopped?” Rogers asks and she nods.  
“Once you know that he can do it, it’s hard for him to use it but I’m not saying some people won’t be effected.” She pauses, already knowing his next question. “There are two methods if that works, one is to focus solely on something else or pain.”  
Stark snorts. “So in his presence we should stab each other to get him out of our heads?”  
“That would work.” 

Everyone stares and for once, she allows her eyes to drop to the ground. They wouldn’t understand. No one ever seems to understand. 

She was nineteen. A full-blown Viper. Never the type to gossip to the peers she would end up killing in lessons. Until rumour spread that Lily had evaded his wandering hands because of being pushed into a wall, damaging her already dislocated shoulder from a previous assignment. Razors were used a lot more after that and his wandering hands only showed when one of the girls needed something. 

Natasha still hasn’t looked up and Clint has decided to just sit beside her, delicately tilting her head to look at him instead of the floor. For a brief second, the avengers are silent. 

A sudden vibration in her back pocket causes Taegan to slip out her phone and stare at it. 

Gentle Jam:  
Uh, not to sound worried because you’re probably doing secret spy stuff and have all of this handled but should Dmitri be messaging me to run?!? 

More texts follow in short succession. 

Russian Trash:  
Octopuses in bar across apartment 

Report 

Now

Gentle Jam:  
I’m being told to leave?????

Tea?? 

I though this was your secret spy phone, I’m moving

Where are you????? 

She growls, types up a ‘I’m coming now’ to Dmitri and a ‘listen to him’ to James before shoving it in her pocket and walking back to the elevator. 

“Sorry, Kids but I’ve got to go.”  
“What?” Rogers asks, stepping towards her. “We haven’t sorted out the issue at hand because you’ve not given us any information?”  
She stills, spins and stares at him. “If you’re hunting Nikolai, I wish you the best of luck. I have no information on him: he’s a slimy bastard and one of the best ex-assassins I’ve ever met and I know Tasha. If I have anything else, I’ll update you but one of my clients is in a bit of a pickle so adios.” 

She jumps into the elevator, keeping eye contact with Rogers and mutters, “ground floor please, Friday.” 

The doors shut and Taegan disappears.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little forewarning: mentions the killing of a pregnant woman, skip forward to the first break in the paragraphs if that’s triggering

Holding her pregnant stomach with tied hands, the woman looked up at the young girl in front of her, pressing a gun to her forehead. Tears streamed down both of their faces. 

“Why can’t I do it?” The girl hissed, blinking harshly, hands shaking. “Why can’t I do this?”   
Terrified to speak, the woman simply stared back, gripping her stomach harder despite the restraints digging into her skin. 

“You look like my mother,” she muttered and then shook herself, suddenly yelling, “it doesn’t matter! It’s her or you, goddamnit!” 

Then, with a growl, the gun clattered to the ground and the girl walked over to the wall and slammed her palm against it, resting her head.   
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chanted, harshly breathing. Quietly, almost to the point where the woman wouldn’t have been able to hear her, she whispered, “what are you going to call the baby?” 

“I don’t know the gender yet,” the woman whispered back and the girl spun, hazel eyes sharp and assessing. Taking the look as an incentive, the woman kept talking. “If it’s a girl, I was going to name her after my sister, Christina. If it was a boy, I was going to name him after my father, Edward.” 

The girl’s face darkened and she was suddenly walking towards the pregnant woman, blade clutched in her hand. She flinched as the blade came close to her arms and then the restraints from her ankles and wrists were gone. Blinking up at the girl, she pointed to the door. 

“Go, get out as fast as you can and don’t stop running,” she spoke slowly and fell against the wall, staring up at the woman. “Someone wants you dead and I can’t- just go. Get of the country, go to America or Asia and say that you are wanted dead just don’t stay. Please.”   
“What about you?” The woman replied because at the end of the day, she was a mother. “You said that it’s me or you. What will happen if I leave?”   
She chuckled darkly. “Nothing good but I am not your child. You deserve to bring up your child. I will deal with the consequences. Go. Go!” 

Three hours later, three boys and two girls showed up at the door, each wearing matching disappointed glares. She knew that they sent extra in case she resisted. They obviously didn’t know her all that well. She wouldn’t resist. 

“Alice,” one of the girl’s hissed. “You’re twenty-one with a mission failure. Do you know what that means? Jesus Christ, they’re going to punish you. Why would you do that?”   
The girl stared at the empty chair and the bright sun outside. “I remember my mother.”   
“We don’t have mother’s,” one of the boys said and she let them tug her to her feet, slapping handcuffs and an electric shock collar on.  
“I did.” 

••• 

It happens in Venice. The gut wrenching moment when Taegan has to come to the conclusion that she will never be able to wipe the blood from her hands. She is no hero. She sure as hell isnt a villain either but she was. 

The people she kills to cover her tracks are innocent. Sure, they knew the world they were in but they are still innocent civilians, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Their blood stains her hands, even after the four showers she has. 

James is safe and for that, she is glad. It’s not ideal and she briefly wonders to what end will his life be more than others but he is alive and he is breathing and as she stares into the fading sun she comes to the crippling realisation that she would do it all over again. For him, she guesses, there is no end. 

So to distract herself and the fact that James may be alive but has become reserved again, she infiltrates a HYDRA base and sends the coordinates to Nat. Even as she pretends to be one of them, with her now straight, chocolate hair and dark blue eyes, she isn’t focused. His face inhabits her mind as she reviews the past three weeks, wondering if there was any possible way to protect him and save him and save them. There isn’t. Still doesn’t make her feel better. 

While there, she encounters Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollins, two of the most wanted men and part of the ex-Strike Team Alpha. It’s amusing that they don’t recognise her, even with the different hair and eyes and name. Taegan trained them For God’s Sake. It’s made even better when Rogers blows a hole into the side of their compound in Florida and she singlehandedly annihilates them both with just her hands and feet and thighs. 

She doesn’t kill them. Those aren’t her orders and it’s strange to have orders again. Ever since she left SHIELD, a couple of months before Clint disappeared to New Mexico’s desert and Nat to Stark Industries, her life has been one of freelance. 

Briefly staying at the X Mansion before moving opposite of Wade Wilson, she never took orders from anyone. The mutants all know her as volatile anyway and Wade is smart and knows that telling an ex-assassin to sit their ass on a chair would get him a head-shot. 

So she waits by the side of a blownup crevice, the still breathing bodies of Rumlow and Rollins beside her. It doesn’t take long before the team arrive. It’s only Rogers, Wilson and Nat but both of the men seem surprised at her look, the blood soaking her nurse’s outfit and the bodies. Nat, not so much. 

“You told me not to kill them,” Taegan says and if her voice is hoarse, she’ll blame the smoke. None of them say anything. “Was I supposed to kill them because that can be arranged?”   
“No!” Rogers starts forward and she raises a single eyebrow at him. “When you said they were here, I though you were joking.”   
“Ah yes, I forgot how big of a joker I am, absolutely hilarious on the jokes of Nazis.” Her tone is dry, her face completely blank and Natasha’s lips quirk. Taegan should feel bad, the guy fought actual Nazis but she’s had a fucking terrible three weeks and she wants to sleep but the nightmares- 

Rumlow groans and she plucks the knife wedged in his shoulder and waves it in from of his face.   
“Hey, sweetheart,” she emphasises the first words he ever said to her, “still want to come to my bedroom now?”   
“You bitch,” he hisses, eyes blinking and movements disjointed.   
“You call me that again and we’ll see where this lovely dagger ends up, hmm?” She makes the point of trialing the blade lower on his tactical suit and he freezes. “Or maybe I’ll slit your best pal’s throat? How about-“ 

“-Rumlow,” Rogers begins and she takes that as a signal to shut up. She does. She’s tired and taking orders is just a quick way to go home. She doesn’t feel better. “You and Rollins are gonna come with us and explain everything...” 

Taegan hands the knife to Nat and walks away. She won’t get far, her outfit is soaked in blood and has an octopus woven into the sleeve but she can’t be bothered to think. Five metres gone, Natasha appears in her peripheral. 

“How the hell do even get away with red hair?” Taegan speaks before she can. “I mean, come on! You’re a goddamn spy and you have red fucking hair.”  
“It’s sexy,” Nat replies, tiny smirk on her porcelain face. “Eye-catching.”  
Taegan stops. “Isn’t that a bad thing?”  
“It’s natural and keeps the mark interested so no.” She nods, goes to turn but a pale hand grabs her arm. It’s a soft hold, one that can only be described as when you spot a wild animal and you hold your hands up in a non-threatening way. 

“Bad week?” Natasha asks with that all-knowing look in her emerald eyes and Taegan can’t help but scoff.   
“Bad life.”   
Natasha pauses and then seems to make a decision. “It was you in Venice, wasn’t it?” 

She shrugs Nat’s hold but doesn’t leave, doesn’t back away because Nat has this look, like she knows but she doesn’t know how to fix it. And Taegan suddenly feels like a child, desperately wanting someone who just gets her. Like Nat. Like Clint. 

“I’m not going to have to coerce you into a hug, am I?” Natasha mutters after Taegan takes too long and she laughs hollowly.   
“Gross.” She drags a hand down her face and decides that if she can be honest around anyone, it’s Natasha Romanoff. “I’m so fucking tired.”   
“Come back with us,” Nat says, eyeing her clothes like they’ve personally offended her. “You’re going to get picked off of the street looking like that and as much as I have faith that you can get yourself out of it, you need someone.” 

She stares at her friend and then back at the men staring at her. “I don’t think I’m welcome-“  
“-I don’t give a fuck,” Nat replies and tilts her head in a way that the arrow necklace clasped around her throat is made obvious. “You’re my family, just like Clint is.” 

Natasha doesn’t beg, doesn’t plead but the honesty in that last line. A lump lodges it’s way in Taegan’s throat and all she can do in nod and be led back to the Jet.

•••

Time ticked on. Metal dug into her wrists and ankles. Liquid fire ran through her veins, scorching every cell it came in contact with. Lava, thick and molten and blazing. She was burning. 

Time ticked on. Numbness spread from her wrists and ankles. Liquid ice solidified her veins, freezing every cell it came in contact with. Glaciers, thin and cool and hardening. She was freezing. 

Time ticked on. Nightmares became her reality. Ghouls and ghosts and long hidden demons edged into her cell. Each one with a promise of pain, never ending pain. She had no idea where the table, the restraints, the injections began and she ended. Her throat was raw from screaming, her eyes dry from crying, her body limp from struggling. She was dying. 

Time ticked on. It did not stop for anyone let alone her. A girl with a heart, with a soul, with emotions. She wasn’t a wolf anymore, nor was she a snake, nor was she the machine that made her into. She was dying. 

She was dying and time ticked on.

•••

Climbing the stairs to her apartment feels like a death sentence. Natasha waits outside, having just dropped off Rogers and Wilson with Rumlow and Rollins to the tower. She hadn’t trusted Taegan to not run, which is hilarious. If Taegan wanted to disappear, she would. 

In the back of her mind, she knows she needs Nat now. She plans the opening to the rant she will never utter about how she isn’t recovering. Not this time and she had absolutely no idea why. Vienna still rings in the back of her mind, the blood soaking the pavement, the terrified faces-

She shakes her head. Takes another step. Remembers Nat offering a purple Hawkeye hoodie in the Jet, considering her blood-soaked nurse outfit. Her feet hit the last of the steps and she knows Clint will never see the hoodie again. It’s warm and comforting and smells just like him and Nat, like the nights and the days orbiting each other. She wonders, resting against the wall, key in hand, whether in another universe, they’re normal, best friends. If in all the possibilities they still find each other. Maybe they don’t. Maybe in that far off land, Nat pulls the trigger, Clint releases the arrow, Taegan gives up. Maybe this is the only timeline where they can be friends. 

Placing the key in the lock, she pauses to stare at Wade Wilson’s. He’s out, that much is obvious by the lack of noise and Taegan has the sudden, inexplicable urge to cry. God, she’s keeping so many secrets and hiding behind so many masks. Is she even real anymore? Or is Taegan Smith as much of a ghost story as her codename?

Breathing out, she turns the key and only then does the tingle spread through her fingertips, up her arm, leaving her veins burning and her eyes suddenly dry. She snaps to attention, feeling the shiver rack her spine, goosebumps spreading across her skin, hair sticking up on end. 

Taegan enters her home - for fucks sake, it’s her home, goddamnit - like it’s just another day. Whoever it is currently residing in her apartment has another thing coming. Especially if she takes too long and Natasha decides to investigate. A Viper and Widow teamup. Unbeatable. 

The layout is simple, a kitchen and living room with doors off to a bathroom and bedroom. So she shuts the door, walks to the kitchen picks up a kitchen knife and darts to the wall in which her senses pick up the attack. She aims for the throat because she’s honestly done when a screech, like nails on a chalkboard fill the room. She doesn’t flinch but her eyes widen as she starts at the arm that blocks the knife. It’s metal. 

James Buchanan Barnes stands, pushed up against the wall, with wide, baby blue eyes. His lips up up-quirked and he stares at her with a mixture of amusement and surprise. With a groan, she lowers the knife and lets her forehead hit his muscular chest. 

“What the fuck?” She murmurs, annoyed that she’s so much tinier than him. “One of these days, Jamie, I’m actually going to stab you.”  
His hands slowly snake down to rest on her hips. It’s a deliberate move, giving her every possible second to pull away. She doesn’t.   
“I’m sure I’d enjoy it, doll,” he mutters back, resting his scruffy chin on her hair. “Caramel? I miss the purple.”  
She snorts. “Purple tends to get stares.”  
“Ooo,” he breathes and she feels rather than hears the noise, “undercover secret spy stuff?”

Very carefully, she pulls back. He looks the same as he did when she left him in Paris just in red Henley and torn jeans than the grey long-sleeved Henley and black cargo pants. His hair is still the inbetween short and long, he still hasn’t shaved but the scar from his temple to his ear has disappeared. Without realising, her fingers hover over the healed tissue. His eyes close and his head tilts, like a cat wanting to be stoked.

“Natasha Romanoff is outside,” she says, breaking the still moment of peace and dragging her hand back. If she stays in his space to long, she runs the risk of being drawn permanently into his atmosphere, his gravity. She can’t afford attachments. Everyone knows how dangerous those can be. “If I don’t get a move on, she’ll be coming up here and i don’t doubt the fact she’ll shoot you.” 

His eyes snap open and his face crumples and hardens, the face of the Asset appearing. She turns, walks into her apartment and forgets the way she finds it hard to breathe. Vienna plays in her mind. She shoves the thought into a box, duct tapes it and buries it as deep as she can. Taegan has not survived this long by being emotional. 

Once in her room, she shrugs the hoodie off and the ruined nurses outfit. A shower is out of the question but a change of clothes for a necessity. She knows for a fact his back is turned as she shrugs out of her kit and changes. He’s a gentleman like that. 

Once fully changed in skinny jeans, grey top and her cloak-coat, she emerges, removing her blue contacts and throwing them into the bin. James sits on one of the three chairs by the kitchen counter, his eyes scanning her appearance and bag in hand. 

“You’re working for them?” He asks and it’s not cruel, he doesn’t spit the words but his eyes, God, his eyes send a look that can only be described as dead. She doesn’t reply because then he’d know that she’s keeping secrets from him and she hates lying to him. Even if it keeps him safe. 

She tightens the bags straps across her shoulders and digs around her cupboards, picking up her weapons and placing them all over her body. 

After a minute, and securing her Viper Fangs, James pipes up, “something’s happening, isn’t it? Something big. Vienna wasn’t an accident or coincidence.”   
She pauses. Fuck. Looking up, she stares at his open, kind face and knows the precise reason he was such a ladies man back in the forties. 

“Nikolai,” she starts and his face becomes stone. He stands, stalks over to her with his murder strut and before he can reach her, she vaults the kitchenette. Space between them is good. With the counter separating her from his wounded, puppy-dog stare, she continues, “Red Room’s back by the looks of it. Heard whispers a couple months back but only recently has data popped up. The Brady Bunch said they’d look into it but if I can’t find anything, neither can they.”

“You’re lying.” The words cut through the air, slicing the particles and slapping her in the face, sending her reeling. Her head snaps up, eyes hardened into crystals and mouth widening to bare her teeth when she notices his expression. It’s calm, controlled but open, vulnerable. “I’ve known you for a year, Tea. You know more than that.” 

She sighs. “Even if I did-“   
“-you wouldn’t tell anyone,” he snarks back, “I know. I’m just saying.”  
“Well don’t,” she retorts. “Look, Vienna was a mistake but I left you in Paris to stay there. I’ve recently exploited a Hydra cell, your buddies Rumlow and Rollins are in the Captain’s custody now. I’m going back because Nat is a worry bug and I’m feeling the need for a bit of torture.”   
He takes a moment to look at her and then he snorts. “Never thought I’d see the day you took orders.” 

Of course he deduced the still alive Hydra agents as orders. God, she should have left him by the river and tells him as much, earning a surprised laugh. Without looking, she flips him off and walks out of the apartment. She plans to leave him there, safe in her apartment but if the metal hand stopping the door from closing is any indication, James does not want that. 

“Jamie,” she whines playfully. “C’mon. Nattie’s going to beat me up.”   
“Tea,” he drags her name out, exiting the apartment and shutting the door, a dark, leather jacket now covering his arm. “Let’s go, doll, before I change my mind.”   
She begins to walk, keeping her face carefully blank. “You sure, Jam? If you follow me, you’re going to meet Nat and then Steve.”   
He nods, determined. “Like I said, let’s keep walking before I change my mind.”   
“Whatever you want, Jim Jam, just don’t call her Natalia or she’ll dick punch you and as much as that would be amusing, I don’t want to explain that the Judgy-Eyebrows-Rogers.” 

Natasha waits by a black Toyota, sunglasses covering her face as she rests against the car. Taegan gives her credit for not pulling her gun out the minute she spots James by her elbow. Instead, she removes the glasses and fits the both of them with the most unimpressed glare Taegan has ever seen. 

“I remember you,” James says, giving her a winning smile that has Natasha dropping the glare instantly and leaves the red-head blinking at him. “Natasha, right? Do you mind Natasha or?” He winces, runs a flesh hand through his cropped hair. “Sorry for shooting you, if it’s any conciliation.”   
“Twice,” Natasha hisses without any menace and he repeats it, scurffing the toe of his boat on the pavement like a chastised child. She turns on Taegan. “First of all, I knew it. Second of all, what the fuck? Third of all, how?” 

Taegan grins at her. “I’d love to talk all about the Winter Soldier and how I turned him into a puppy but were currently out in the open, right after a Hydra cell was exposed with three, on the run assassins, so can we discuss this on the move?”   
“God,” Natasha mutters, sunglasses back on her face, “it’s a fucking joke, isn’t it? Three assassins walked into a car...”


	5. Chapter 4

Detachment was a funny thing. The procedure lasted two weeks, both of which were spent in agony until her heart gave up. When she flatlined they did not rush to keep her alive, nor did they even notice. She was a malfunctioned weapon, a rabid dog: she deserved her pieces to be pulled apart, to be put down. 

That was until the darkness came. Bones hardening, skin paling, blonde hair bursting into a galaxy. Legally, she was dead for five minutes. Technically, she could say death was no fit for a creature like her. Hypothetically, she was the best. 

Only then, when her heart began to beat, stronger this time, more resilient, did they rush into her padded cell. Blackness covered her body like a sheet of oil, it stained the walls and left a coldness only death could bring. 

Every time they took a step too close, blackness would appear in the form of a spike, shoving them back and away from her. When she awoke, metal collar around her neck and darkness burning through her veins, she was nicknamed Nyx, Goddess of the Night. 

She no longer sat with her fellow Vipers, nor did she train beside them. Her punishments were harsher, her meal smaller, her training longer. A Handler followed her on every mission to ensure she never tried anything again. They pushed and pushed and pushed but she did not break. The last time she gave them that control was when she was ten. 

Once again, she rose through the ranks quicker than the others, leaving a trail of death and destruction. Her hands were permanently crimson, her eyes lost and her soul empty. 

That was until a certain mission in Germany.

••• 

To say the drive to Stark’s tower was awkward would be the understatement of the century. Natasha kept looking in the back, as if checking James hadn’t moved. James, in turn, stayed as still as possible, probably regretting his decision as much as Taegan. God, did she regret her decision. 

To make matters worse, by the time they got into the elevator, there was just more silence. Half-way up, Taegan has had enough. 

“Fucking hell,” she snarls, eyes flicking to the assassins standing on opposite ends, just watching each other. The sudden noise causes them both to startle, which would make Taegan lose her anger immediately if it was a good day. It sure as hell isnt a good day. 

“What?” James says, defensive, voice whiny and lips pouting. He should be thankful he’s cute. “I’ve already said my peace and all I got was silence!”   
“Maybe because I’ve been hoping you never popped up,” Natasha growls back, eyes dark with fury. “Talk about past coming back to haunt you.”  
James doesn’t even look upset at the remark, he just looks pissed. “You know what? Fuck you.”  
“Real mature, Barnes,” she hisses and Taegan feels the need to unsheathe her blades. “Did you really expect me to let you waltz back into my life? After shooting me twice? After leaving me fucking broken because they found out?”  
“You didn’t have to sleep with me, Natalia,” and oh shit, Natasha slips into the Black Widow, eyes simmering, back straightening, fists clenching. 

But before she can lunge the distance towards him, his eyes drop, his shoulders slumping. “You weren’t the only one punished.”  
The Black Widow recedes slightly. “I’m well aware of that.”  
Silence yet again spreads between them before Taegan lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m glad that’s been resolved. Thought I was going to have to rip you from each other.”

Both of the assassins give her a tiny smile and James even snorts, to which she slams a less than delicate elbow into his ribs. 

“You ready for round two?” Natasha asks as FRIDAY announces their arrival. “Steve’s going to be drooling all over you, Barnes.”  
“Can’t wait,” he mutters while Taegan rolls her shoulders.   
“How far can I push Stark before he throws me out of a window?”   
Natasha rolls her eyes as the doors open. “Ask him on a date in front of Pepper and she’ll do the honours.”   
“A queen.” 

Natasha immediately steps out - it is her own territory - but Taegan hangs back with a sudden terrified-looking James. 

“We can go,” she tells him quietly, not looking because he hates pitying looks and even if she hides her facial expressions better than Remy LeBeau’s poker face, he would just know. “We’ve made no arrangements.”  
“Nata- Natasha wanted to-“ he tries and she cuts him off.  
“-talk but it can wait. No one is making you do this, Jam.” Then, as an afterthought, “it’s your choice.” 

Silence. She lets him think. Then, slowly and very, very quietly, he asks, “if I get murderous or-“  
“-yeah, I’ll get you out. I’ll throw one of my knives at an avenger.” She ponders it as he laughs. “Clint. I don’t trust Nattie to not throw one back and the others will probably try and kill me.”

Taegan saunters into the room, gaining the attention of the rest of the team.   
“Hello everybody,” she grins and waves, “did you miss me? If you didn’t, well, I bought a gift.”   
James enters, coming up to stand at her elbow and she gets the beautiful sight of the entirety of the Avengers collectively loose it. 

Wilson freezes, then snaps his head to look between James and Rogers, who blanches and appears to have entered a catatonic state. The Twins begin to converse in Sokovian, confused and slightly terrified while Vision tilts his head, probably running facial recognition on him. Stark goes through about eight different facial expressions before settling on an open-mouthed glare. Doc takes a step back, noticing the nervous energy and probably trying to not Hulk out and Clint, well Clint is just very Clint about the whole thing.

He stands, hip-checks Nat and then points at James, eyes narrowed but friendly. “So you’re the guy who shot Tasha twice and lives?”  
“Uh, yes?” James replies, stock-still and trying not to do his sniper stare. Taegan brushes past him to greet Clint in a subtle way to tell him to calm.   
“Hey, Pigeon. No killing my favourite Sniper over Nattie.” He pulls an angry, affronted look.  
“How dare you! I’m not your favourite sniper?” Clint pouts, actually pouts and Taegan not only thanks his care free attitude but the fact he can fall back into his easy going mask. 

He holds out a hand to James. “Clint Barton, or Hawkeye if you know that one. Weird, I know. How do you feel about Dog Cops?”   
Slowly, James shakes his hand before dropping it. “James Barnes.” He spares a quick glance Taegan’s way. “We’re on season two, right?”  
Clint grins and then nods towards Taegan while backing away. “We’re keeping him. Which episode?”  
“Three.” She replies and he fistbumps the air.   
“If you’re staying, we’re watching it later. Although,” he sends a half-hearted glare Natasha’s way, “someone decided to watch it when I wasn’t there.”

“Buck?” Rogers grits out and Taegan carefully eyes James’ next move. Instead of hightailing it out of the room, which she expected, he throws his arms wide with a charming grin.  
“Hey, punk. Been a long time, ain’t it?”   
Rogers jaw drops and then in two large strides, he’s grabbing James by his jacket and pulling him into a hug. 

For a second, Taegan stills as does Nat, making sure the sudden contact doesn’t leave Rogers with a metal hand around his neck but James melts into the hold, pressing his hands into Rogers’ back and tucking his face into the other man’s shoulder. 

“Isn’t this adorable?” Stark drawls. “Uncle Sam finally reunited with his best pal. I’m-“  
Doc grabs him before he can spin around. “No. We’re going to deal with situation sober.”  
“But Brucie,” he whines as Doc tugs him on the couch. The Twins stare at the man and Doc turns to them.   
“Wanda, Pietro, Vision meet-“  
“-James Buchanan Barnes.” Vision replies for him. “Known to some as the Winter Soldier.”  
“Maybe don’t mention that,” Nat sighs and Taegan allows herself to stand at the edge of the team. 

James allows Rogers to tug him to couch and Wilson sits beside the blond. He, along with Stark, seem the most upset at the revelation. Probably because James killed Stark’s parents and nearly sent Wilson plummeting to his death. God, she can feel a headache blooming. 

Taegan watches them interact from the safety of the wall by the bar. She knows she can place herself into the conversation about how? Why? When? But she can’t. Not now. Not when both Rogers and James look like they’ve seen the stars for the first time. 

James apologises so Stark and Wilson, mentions information about the Twins and spends about an hour discussing everything to Rogers, who looks more than eager to soak it up. Taegan watches and allows Nat to sneak over to her. 

“Vienna,” Nat whispers and Taegan tilts her head to acknowledge her, half-listening to Rogers discussing how much the world has evolved. Natasha’s silence speaks louder than any words she could give. 

With a sigh, she finally turns to her. “I’m alright. My head’s a little messed but it’ll be fixed. Just give me time.”   
“Eight civilians died, including a child-“  
“-Nat,” she grit out and have her a pointed stare. “Vienna was a mistake and yes, it’s fucking eating me up but-“  
“-if you say we don’t have to do anything about it, I swear-“  
“-I’ll deal with it.” Taegan spits out and Natasha gives her a very concerned look. 

“Don’t make me choose between hugging you or throat punching you.” A startled laugh bubbles out of her throat at Nat’s comment.   
“I’d like to see you try,” Taegan jibes back and Nat drops the look to adopt a smirk.  
“Rematch from Mumbai?” A grin slithers onto Taegan’s face remembering that fateful mission. A trigger word had set Nat off and within minutes half of the team were down. It took Taegan a few minutes to find her and then twenty minutes of hand to hand and hiding to knock her out. She’s never lived it down. 

“Mumbai!” Clint groans from the couch. “That mission sucked. It sucked ass.”  
Taegan nods. “Yeah but I beat Tash.”  
“I will hit you.” Natasha mutters and Taegan finds herself smiling earnestly. 

James is still deep within a conversation with the rest of the team, Nat and Clint continue to share verbal blows and Taegan feels calm. Not quite at ease or relaxed, her senses are still alert and poised for any threats but maybe, and it’s a big maybe, she can make this life work. 

Hell, in the future, she could be part of their little superhero squad and her name would be praised instead of faired. She’d have an entire team to watch her back, a warm bed and a games room - yes, she found the games room. It’s seems like a dream and instead of chastising herself for her imagination, she revels in it. 

When the phone rings, she realises why dreams aren’t reality. Especially not in her line of work. She slips the device out of her back pocket and presses the accept button before placing it at her ear. The room is silent as they turn to peer at her. 

She waits for the other person to speak so she can appropriately fix her cover. 

“Little Viper,” the voice purrs and she wills her body to relax.   
“Yelena,” she greets and Nat’s stance stiffens. “I thought you were the terror cell in Paris.”  
“Oh, I am,” the blonde replies and Taegan forces herself to listen harder. By the voices and ordinary noises, she guesses the Widow is in a cafe. “I’ve just received your tip off on information.”  
“Which I released a month ago,” Taegan replies because she likes Yelena but she doesn’t trust her. 

A snort sounds from down the line. “Like you said yourself, I’m busy.”   
Taegan takes a guess, “I never knew you put this much effort into an arms dealer. I mean, he’s cute but cute isn’t your type.”

Taegan taps CAFE in morse code and immediately Clint stands and mutters for FRIDAY to open up a map and link the pieces together. 

“Always so smart,” Yelena praises, “but I’m pretty sure you’re the one who wants the information.”  
“And you’re the one who called me,” Taegan snarks back. She can’t help herself. “This better be good because I’m currently busy too and-“  
“-lets just say,” Yelena purrs, practically breathing down the line in a soft tone, “you’re not wrong with your theories.”

Taegan stills. “So they are back and he’s commanding them?”  
“Don’t play stupid,” Yelena suddenly snarls. “I know you and you know more than your letting on.”  
She looks at Nat. “I only pretend to know things, Lena, but thanks for confirming those theories. Anything else you’d like to add before your arms dealer calls you back to his side?”

There’s a pause and Taegan believes she’s clicked off before her voice whispers the words that send a spike of fear and adrenaline pumping through her veins.

“Do you remember when we met in Krakow? He’s currently residing in the old, recon base. Check with Caesar if you don’t believe me. Good Luck, Taegan.” 

•••

She was small, curvaceous and bright. Her yellow hair framed her head like a halo and some days, the young girl could barely look at her in fear she would be blinded by her light. 

She was the sun. 

He was tall, muscular and dark. His midnight locks spiked upon his head like horns and some days, the young girl could look at him in fear he would become the shadows her mother warned her of.

He was the moon. 

Deep down, the young girl could see the mixture between the two. She had their hazel eyes. She had changed from the woman’s blonde to the man’s black. It was thick like his but wavy like hers. 

She was the stars. 

Yet as she stared at the towering building, her tiny, pale hand clasped within her mother’s, watching the man’s eyes widen as they stared at her, she couldn’t grasp the situation. 

Why did her mother leave her? Why did the man favour her? Why did everyone watch her like she was a bomb ready to blow? 

•••

It takes three minutes for the Avengers to form themselves into a suited up team. In those precious minutes, Taegan has been placed in charge. What fun. 

She stands at the Quinjet’s doors, dialling the number of Caesar as Nat explains the situation. 

“I wouldn’t advise Doctor Banner coming,” Taegan adds to Natasha’s haphazard ‘we’re fighting possible child super soldiers’. She sends the man a passive smile. “If he is there and if there are Widows or Vipers, it wouldn’t be long before the other guy made an appearance and after Sokovia, if anymore damage-“

She turns her back and sits down when she hears the line beep open, watching the Twins take a seat opposite her. Clint makes his way to the pilot’s seat and she does a quick headcount: two super soldiers (James insisted), a flying tincan, two mutants and three assassins. Tony told Vision to bench it. 

“Miss Shadow,” Caesar, in his crisp French-accent greets and she easily replies in the same smooth tone.  
“Mr Deceit, it’s always a pleasure but this call is about business.”   
“Ah, I’m guessing dear Yelena informed you of Krakow.”   
“Yes and I hear you know something about it.” 

Caesar has an issue with lying. In the School in which Taegan was taught and trained, there was a mutant wing. Most of the children flooding the doors did not express abilities and those that did were treated more highly, depending on their mutation. If their mutation caused too much trouble, they were removed permanently from the program.

Before Taegan’s mission failure, Caesar was sent on a mission that ended with some very pissed off Handlers. The mark had fought back and while Caesar had killed him, he suffered from a brain injury that the Handlers feared would kill one of their best hand-to-hand fighters. Yet he woke up and could suddenly tell when someone was lying. The main problem with the new mutation is he became like the Fae Folk, never to tell a lie. 

It didn’t slow him down, only made him more cunning as he spoke in half-truths, relying more on his hypnotic accent and fast fists. Taegan had learnt beside him and so, Caesar became one of the only people she trusted. Plus, he always had the right information considering no one could lie to him. 

“He hides within, that’s correct,” he starts and she straps in as the jet pulls away. “I scouted him in the town but he is in the empty compound boarding the city. I would suggest being careful.”  
“Agents inside?” She asks and she hear his nod.  
“I don’t know but he was never one to do things alone.”

Her eyes connect with Natasha’s and she feels the tingles spread across her skin. Something is going to go wrong. Flicking to James, deep in conversation with Rogers, she scans his stolen tactical gear and wonders if this mission will be another Vienna. How much will it cost her to save him? 

“Thank you, Caesar,” she murmurs and before she can click off, his voice slips through.  
“Don’t be stupid, Nyx. Stopping him may be for the greater good but I can’t help feel that it’s going to cost you. Remember who you are.” 

With that the line falls dead she she slips the phone into her pocket, zipping it up. Turning to Rogers, she accepts the Comm Nat gives her and places it into her ear. 

“We might come up against proper super soldiers,” she starts, all heads turning to her, “they might even be kids. They will not stop. You can punch them and stab them but it will only slow them down. Even knocking them out won’t last as long as you think it will.”  
“Are you telling us to kill children?” Stark mutters through the comm and she spares a sad stare with Nat.  
“They won’t give you a choice.”

“Arriving in three.” Clint calls and they all stand, steadying weaponry and sharing reassuring grins.   
“Remember Avengers,” Rogers says, shield in hand, “if they hurt you, hurt ‘em back. If they kill you,” he looks at Pietro, “walk it off.” 

Taegan takes a second to allow the assassin to take over. The tingles still soread across her skin but she stops the urge to nervously flex her fingers. She misses the bag left behind but all the weapons now occupy her body. Removing the gun from her waistband, she checks the magazine and flicks the safety off. 

“I really miss the purple,” James mutters and she rolls her eyes.  
“Yeah but we’re doing secret spy stuff now, aren’t we?” He nudges her.   
“We’re going to be okay.”   
For a second, she believes his beautiful blue eyes. “I hope so.” 

The doors groan open and she allows Rogers to run forward. How he hasn’t been shot by a sniper is a goddamn miracle. 

James and Natasha flank him while Wilson and Stark drop down.   
“Picking up no beat signatures,” Stark comments and Taegan steps out, scanning the area before narrowing her eyes outside one of the windows. Footsteps. Soft indentation, male, mid-twenties, expensive shoes. Not Nikolai. He was one for boots.   
“There’s tech to stop that from working,” she responds as she walks and drops to the ground outside of the window. Fingers glide along the ground and she rises, spares the inside a quick look. Someone travelled through here. Or maybe it’s a decoy-

“What’d you mean there’s tech-“ Stark starts and then the hairs rise on the back of neck and she dives through the window just as a bullet ricochets off of the wall. Right where her head was a second ago.   
“We’ve got company!” She yells at the same time Wilson does. Bullets start raining down hellfire as she hears the steady thump of oncoming footsteps. She shifts to stare at the end of the corridor and only then does she notice the slice on her hand. A simple cut, a passing bullet. The footsteps grow louder, she ignores the wound.

She shakes off Taegan, dropping the mask of the woman she inhabits the skin of. It’s a gradual procedure but time slows as her eyes focus, her stance straightening, her heart thumping.

Gunpowder, sweat and bleach fill her nostrils. Dust particles float in front of her narrowed eyes. Footsteps grow louder as she tunes out the sound of the other Avengers. Flexing her fingers on the gun, she counts her breaths, feeling the man draw near. She remains catatonic. Then, with all the grace and swiftness of a slithering serpent, she swirls around and strikes. 

Darting to the end of the corridor, she waits for the muzzle of the gun to poke out before she yanks it, using the momentum to kick the man down. With a clear shot, he falls. 

More footsteps sound and she runs to the greet the soldiers. Immediately she shoots them until her gun is empty. With a sinister smirk, she flexes her hidden blades and charges into the fray. Slice, kick, punch, dodge, par, repeat. Punch, slice, dodge, kick, par, repeat. The soldiers fall within minutes. 

“Hey, are you-“ Wilson flies down to her and stares at the pile of bodies around her feet, “-I’m obviously not needed.”   
“No,” she replies, her voice melodic, “shouldn’t you be in the sky?”  
“Easy there, tiger, you’re the one who’s not answering on Comms.”   
She rolls her eyes and wipes the blood from her blades on her sleeves. “Bit busy.”   
Without another word, she sprints off. 

The corridors are long and winding but she knows the layout like the back of her hand, pulling the memory of her time here into the forefront of her mind. Tingles shoot from her spine. Edging around the corner, she’s met with what can only be described as a nuclear bunker. 

She flexes her blades with the repeating, too easy, playing through her brain. Her feet touch metal and before she can move, doors slam down. The world goes deafly silent. 

“Uh,” she mutters into her comms. “Anyone there?”   
It’s a futile attempt of the buzzing she gets is any tell and she rips the comm out. Carefully jumping off of the metal plate, she surveys the room, noting destroyed computers, a metal bedframe shoved into a corner, a large blanket covered underneath and a single, old-fashioned television in the middle of the room. She tilts her head to follow the wires leading out of the room, a place of weakness she guesses by if anything were to happen, she has no way of escaping unless the doors open, probably controlled by whoever has the wires leading to them. It’s strange, she briefly thinks, because if Nikolai stayed here, he wouldn’t have just one exit. Her thoughts are cut short by a camera’s red light blinking on from the top of the Tv. 

“Nikolai,” she greets the man, stepping closer when his face pops up upon the screen. “A bit cowardly to face me through a screen, don’t you thing?”   
“Little Viper,” he responds, his posh British accent at the forefront. His black hair is slicked back and his icy blue eyes lock onto her. “You’re looking beautiful as always. Have I told you how proud I am?”  
“Now is not the time for flattery,” she hears slams against the door and realises that while Nat may have been called and is trying to hack through it, James has taken it upon himself to slam it open with his metal fist. By the look on his face, he heard the commotion too.

“They won’t break through, but,” a prideful smile filled his pale face, “you already guessed that.”   
“It’s a nuclear bunker and you’re the only one with the code for those doors.” She looks at him and feels too calm. This man has been the monster under her bed and yet, staring at him now, she feels nothing but boredom. 

“How about this,” she starts, “you tell me your location so we can settle this like people and I’ll tell them that I was met with a blank screen?”   
As she speaks, she knows deep down that she would lie to them, even James, if it meant she could fix the mess she’s in. He must see it in her eyes, the truthfulness of her statement because a deep chuckle leaves his lips. 

“I would, Little Viper, but I don’t know what we would be settling.”   
She raises an eyebrow. “The fact you’ve decided to reinvent the Red Room and the School. I won’t let you train child soldiers.”  
“My beautiful Alice,” he mutters after a series of bangs collide with the door, probably Stark and his rockets, “do you honestly regret what I gave you? The ability to blend in anywhere, the power, the knowledge? You’ve joined forces with the Black Widow and Winter Soldier because what, they’re your friends? No, my sweet child, you joined them because they are simply a means to an end.” 

She stares at him and refuses the urge to snark back. And maybe, just maybe, he is right. Every since she gained her assassin alter ego, she’s lived mostly subconsciously. She rose through every rank, making friends with some of the worst and best people, thinking she was finally going straight. But, S.H.I.E.L.D is HYDRA and the X-men are some of the most powerful mutants ever seen, hell, Wade is an immortal merc. 

She could try and defend herself but the facts are there, clear as day. Taegan Smith never escaped her path, simply convinced herself into thinking she had. 

By the look in his eyes, he’s noticed her mini-crisis. “Alice, sweetheart, I don’t want to fight you and I don’t expect you to join me but the world has never run out of wars and people have emotional ties,” he spits the words like it pains him, “which stop them from fighting for their country. Paint me as the monster all you wish but this, this is for the greater good.”

For a second, he turns and scans his own surroundings, letting Taegan get a clear picture of where he is: still in the compound. By the looks of the crumbled walls and vines, right on the far corner of the building. 

“Your mission,” he starts and her eyebrows scrunch up. When did she ever say she was working for him? “Is simple: destroy the Avengers and then come and find me. You’ll know where when your ready.”   
“Nikolai,” she laughs, “I’m never going to listen to that.”  
“Why because your mutant friend messed with your brain?” The words are a slap in the face and her laugh abruptly cut off. “Oh, honey, you’re not the Soldier, we only put a couple of trigger words in that pretty brain of yours and you’re not the Widow, we never gave you false memories.”  
“Then...” she freezes as she stares at him, the tingling sending razor-sharp fear spiking through her skin. “How did you...?”

His smile turns wolffish. “My sweet, little Alice, I’ve always kept track of you. It was hard, don’t get my wrong, you’re brilliant but you pop up every now and then. I was surprised to learn you defected after Germany-“  
“-it was a suicide mission!” She bursts, body violently shaking. “They sent me to die!”  
“And yet here you are,” he murmurs, “we could always push you. Of course, by the looks of the marks on your wrists, we may have pushed you slightly too far.” 

Every muscle locks into place and she feels the phantom itch spread from her wrists. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”  
“You’re maker, the painter to your scarred canvas,” he whispers and turns again. “This has been lovely, Alice, really but I need to go. We’ll speak soon. For now, you do remember the tracker we placed in you?”  
“Unfortunately so,” she replies, remembering how she cut it out of the back of her neck the minute she defected. Inside the tracker was a chip that had a specific code encrypted upon it, making her a puppet.

The smile drops from his face and he fits her an apologetic look. “If only,” he stops himself and then frowns, “until we meet again, Little Viper.” 

Her eyes dart from his face as she swears the blanket under the bed moves but her head suddenly feels too heavy. He recites a long line of numbers in all different languages, some she has no idea where they come from. By the time she clocks on and goes to raise her hands to her ears, she finds her body completely immobile. She can only stare at his lips, forming words that pass through her ears. If someone asks her what the numbers are, she would never be able to repeat them as they’re gone from her mind before she can think. Her eyes droop and she sways, pretty certain that for a split second, she blacks out. 

He finishes as quick as he started and she hears the low rumbling of the door opening, her eyes finally focusing on his face. The blanket is crumpled again in the corner and a coldness wafts through the room, a stray breeze probably from the opening door.   
“You know what you need to do, Alice.” 

He’s gone before the Avengers jump in, guns raised and shield at the ready. She turns, notes down that it’s just the supersoldiers and Nat. 

“Taegan, are you okay?” James starts froward, flesh hand reaching for her just as Nat yells, “don’t!” 

That’s when everything blurred into hell.

•••

It was a bloody but painless death. His head snapped back with the force of the bullet and his body crumpled into a limp pile on the floor of the Globetrotter store. The bullet passed through his brain and shattered the glass behind where he stood. 

She was cold and dying. That much was certain despite the warm day in Cologne. The feeling of betrayal burned her skin more than the wounds staining her body. How dare they send her on a suicidal mission. 

She leaned against the garbage bins outside, chest heaving with laboured breaths. Scanning her body, she checked the wounds. Broken leg, broken ankle, bullet in her thigh, broken at least two ribs, probable punctuated lung, stab wound near the liver, dislocated shoulder, broken wrist, bullet through the shoulder, cut down the side of her face from eyebrow to neck, fractured skull. God, she ached. 

All her weapons were gone. It was a ruse, the whole mission. Little Ruby and her beautiful angelic features joined her as a goddamn Handler and then turned on her; lead her to her death. Well she was not easy to kill. Hence the bodies left behind. 

CIA, MI6, S.H.I.E.L.D., name it, they were probably there, waiting for her. Even with her tampered abilities, the gun that Ruby had placed against her temple did not frighten her. She’d always planned for the moment she’d be taken out. 

Here she was, dying and proud. All of power went into healing, which only helped the cuts and bruises: the bones would take too much time and the bullets needed to be out before she could heal. 

“Ma’am, are you okay?” A voice asked and she sighed against the wall. It was a male, mid-thirties to forties with soft, curtly hair and a strange accent: German but sort of Irish.   
“If you’re here to kill me, I am sorry to disappoint,” she replied, not even bothering to hide her accent or behind her Rachel persona.   
“I’m not here to kill you,” he stepped closer, hands raised, eyeing the metal bands on her wrists, “my name is Erik Leshnerr-“  
“-the mutant,” she interrupted because he was the one that tried to stop the assassination of JFK only for the Winter Soldier to complete his mission. Metal, she remembered, he controlled metal. 

“Yes, like you.” She startled and laughed, pressing harder into her bleeding stomach.   
“I’m not a mutant.”  
“Those are power inhibitors,” he raised an eyebrow, “and as much as I’d love to continue, you appear to be dying.”  
“I’m good,” she replied nonchalantly, “I’ll heal.” 

“She’s a Viper, Erik,” another voice, distinctly Bristish muttered from afar. She didn’t detect him and that sent a ripple of fear and anger through her. Now was so not the time for her instincts to fail her. “She’ll eat you up even with your abilities and without hers.”  
“I don’t doubt it, Charles,” he snarked back, “so could you help? Or will I have to do this my way because we all know how messy-“  
“-hello,” the British man - Charles - approached in a wheel chair and a wave of dizziness hit her. She couldn’t get a read on either of them. “My name is Charles Xavier, I’m going to help you.” 

Even delirious, she snorted. “You come anyway near me and I’ll snap your neck.”  
He sighed. “I am truly sorry about this, especially considering your past of mental manipulation-“ her eyes napped wide open and she snarled, rising unsteadily to her feet because he did not just go there, “- but you’ll realise this was the right thing in time. Goodnight, Miss Quinn.” 

Before she could even think of charging him, it was as though the curtains of her mind had been dropped and she was out like a light in less than a millisecond.

••••••

Inside, Taegan screams that Nikolai is still in the building. Inside, she pleads for someone to help. Inside, she wonders how many she’ll kill. 

James’ flesh hand is close and the assassin inside, Nyx, reacts. Grabbing it, she kicks the gun away and flips onto his shoulders, spinning until his body crashes into the ground. 

Rolling away, she jumps to her feet and slams into Nat, moving one of her legs so that the red-head ends up down. Sweeping down, she ducks under Roger’s shield and swipes his legs out from under him.

Sprinting from the room she finds an opening in the ceiling and swings herself onto the second floor. Her mind screams to finish them, like Nikolai said but she’s in control, even if it’s only a tiny bit. She can’t kill them. She cares about them. 

Even as she sneaks into the main control room, she can feel the tethers grounding her become snipped away. With every step, her humanity fades, the little girl dissolves becoming replaced by the hunting wolf, thirsting for the blood of her allies. Weaponry digs into her skin, littered across her body but she convinces the killer that she can murder with her bare hands. She doesn’t have to hide behind her toys. 

Turning into the room, she watches the security feed. Cameras are down in the far corner of the compound: Nikolai. Black Widow, Winter Soldier and Captain America stand, conversing as they walk down the hallways. Falcon lands outside one of the doors and approaches and she notices that a couple of agents are keeping Iron Man busy. She can’t spot the Twins but she’s never been frightened of a couple of mutants. Perfect.

She slips from the room, ears and eyes open as she feels the assassin cut away the duct tape on the box hidden within the maze of her mind. Nyx kicks the lid off and darkness floods out. She physically has to pause as every cell lights up. Breathing in feels wonderful, like she’s been underwater for too long. Her hazel eyes flood to demonic black, the darkness burning the hair dye off, leaving the galaxy in its wake. She feels alive. Nyx comes out to play.

“What do you mean we have a triggered assassin amongst us?” Falcon snarks. “I never shoulda stayed with you people.”  
“She’s better than all of us,” Winter Soldier comments and she frowns at the emotion in his voice. He’s a weapon. Weapons don’t have voices.  
“Combined? I’m pretty sure the twins-“  
“-don’t,” Black Widow interrupts Captain America. “If she feels threatened, she’s more likely to do more damage. Barton, get here now! Yes Tony, stay away and take the Maximoffs to the Jet.” 

Falcon moves slightly in front of the gaping hole and she seizes her opportunity. Swinging down, she slams both of her feet into his back, sending the man crashing into the wall. She doesn’t pause, nor does she hesitate. She uppercuts Captain America and kicks at Winter Soldier. He dodges it as she lists all of their weaknesses in her head. 

Captain America is a gentleman, he doesn’t actually want to hurt her, neither does Winter Soldier, who appears to care about her. Falcon is easy to take down but she won’t doubt his potential. Black Widow will be ruthless but he cockiness will let her down.

Winter Soldier punches with only his flesh fist and she easily latches onto it and slides under his legs, tugging him to the ground. Before she can slam a foot into his face, Captain America lunges to her middle. She tilts her body, kicking into his back and kicking the back of his head into the wall. Rolling under Black Widow’s kick, she grabs Falcon’s arm and dislocates it, kicking the backs of his knees, shoving his head into the ground. Spinning around, she counters the attack Winter Soldier gives her. 

She dances out of every one, watching the concern melting into anger. She waits, draws out the Asset and allows the metal fist to encircle her throat and push her against the wall.  
“Taegan-“ he mutters and as Black Widow goes to speak she presses against the wall at her back and rears up, sending a kick to his chest, using the momentum to wrap her legs around his neck and twist. He falls and she grabs his head and rather violently smashes it into the ground. Three down, one to go.

Rising she turns to Black Widow, holding a gun level with her forehead.   
“I don’t want to kill you, Taegan, but I will.” Nyx smiles at her, slow and wolffish. She takes a step and Black Widow cocks the hammer. 

The darkness suddenly pulls her and she drops to the ground just as an explosive sounds beside her. Turning, she notes the arrow and the smile turns to a frown. Hawkeye. 

Jumping up, she tackles Black Widow and kicks the gun away. Black Widow goes to break her arm so she rolls away and kicks at her face but she dives away. Within a millisecond, they both dart up, colliding with kicks and punches, offering no room for hesitation. Slamming a foot into Black Widow’s side, she allows a slap to collide with her face only so she can collide her palms with Black Widow’s ears. 

Disorientated, Black Widow stumbles, only tiny one but Nyx strikes sending a spinning kick into her side and using the momentum to send a sharp elbow into her solar plexus. Black Widow hits the ground with a groan. Four down. 

Nyx dives away just as a foot aims for her head. She darts her eyes up into the murky blues of Hawkeye’s. Before he can open his mouth, she charges. 

They trade hit for hit and for a change, she has to think on her feet. He’s a friend and he cares but he’s willing to take her down. Not only that, if the slap he gives her is anything to go by, he’s definitely not going to fight fair. 

She kicks him in the side and goes for an uppercut but he dodges and lands a punch that has her backing up. With a growl, she doubles her efforts, landing kick and punch and jab with furious speed and efficiency. He takes the hits and then gives them back. Every dodge pushing her further back. 

She uses the seconds between attacks to check on the other four. Falcon is completely out while Captain America is just coming around. The Winter Soldier is still but his eyes are beginning to blink as Black Widow groans and pushes herself against the wall. 

Hawkeye suddenly kicks at her side and she slips to the floor, trying to sweep his legs out. He jumps and punches at her rib cage as she punches his ears. 

She thinks of his file: abusive father, lived as a Carnie, saved Black Widow, best sniper. She draws on Taegan’s memories of past sparring sessions: deaf, ambidextrous when it comes to punches by favours his left leg. 

Without another thought, she slams everything into kicking his left leg, he drops into his knee and she uses as much force to uppercut him. She turns to leave, getting bored of the fighting and needs to find her handler when she hears a metal screech and spins around. 

Only to get a face full of metal bar. Her head snaps to the side, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. She spits it out and she stares at him, his bow is now a bar. How could she have forgotten that? 

“Your name is Taegan Smith,” he starts as she gingerly touches her swollen cheek. Her head immediately snaps up, pain blossoming through her brain, feeling as though every cell is being torn apart. “You hate the cold and water and extended eye contact. You love ice cream and dogs and snow.” 

She bares her teeth in a snarl and staggers toward him as her brain feels on fire. All of her muscles suddenly ache, her balance completely off. 

“You treasure Lucky because he still licks you even after missions. Even when you think you’ve done something irredeemable. You haven’t, Taegan. We’re going to forgive you. Just fight it, I know you’re capable-“

She lunges, teeth bared and in agony, he easily sidesteps but her eyes on a come play different prize. She punches his ribs while hooking a foot around his so he tumbles. Then, she dives, grabs a disgardes gun and turns to fire it. 

The sound of metal screeching fills the air as she spins. Before she can fire, an explosion hits on her right shoulder, burning the skin and five fine tipped needles seem to dig into her skin. Pain burns through her shoulder and the finger on the trigger slips, firing as he ducks away. She has no idea if it hits him because suddenly she’s falling, crashing into the ground. 

She struggles to get an arm up, trying to rip it from her shoulder but just touching the - Jesus Christ it’s an arrow with four tiny needle thin spikes. Groaning as she touches it, she takes a second to inhale and exhale through the pain before giving a sharp tug. A yell leaves her lips as black spots pop into her vision, a burning sensation spreading across her shoulder and down her arm. Blood begins to pour from where the arrow is still embedded, too much really, but it’s not the blood that has her worried. Trails of green leak from the room and she focuses on the top of the arrow in her blurred vision. A green band. He has shot her with a fucking Hulk arrow. 

Gritting her teeth at the pain and the feeling of unconsciousness, she places her hand securely around the arrow. With a scream of pain and frustration, she tugs and the arrow comes free. 

Blood and green fluid leak from the wound and she pulls at the darkness. Slowly, it stitches the wound together, the pain of the pull nothing compared to the agony of the arrow itself. She tries to get up but her eyes start to droop. Tranquilliser. Some heavy shit too.

Above her, she hears disjointed words said by a voice she cannot place. “You... her.... Hulk... die...”   
Cold fingers press to the side of her neck as her eyes roll back into her skull. For the first time in decades, Taegan dreams.


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some pretty triggering stuff, guys, so be careful. 
> 
> Sorry about not uploading regularly and having terrible grammar/spelling, life is hard. 
> 
> Enjoy Taegan’s fever dreams and if you want me to add something specific in, just let me know.

•••

“Mummy,” the little blonde girl said, staring at the large, Victorian building in front of her. “Why do I have to go?”  
A blonde woman stared down at her daughter, hands clasped together, her tiny body hidden by the large coat. “The war, baby. It’s safer here.” 

“But-“ the little girl tried and the mother squeezed her daughter’s hand as she knocked.   
“Katya,” she chastised, “I’m sorry but I will do anything and everything in my power to protect the one thing I love most in the world and do you know who that is?” She asked, her Irish accent very prominent and the little girl jumped up.  
“It’s me!”   
She kissed her daughter’s forehead as the drop opened. “Yeah, baby.” 

Standing there was a man with dark hair and icy eyes. His jaw dropped as he stared between the woman and the tiny child. 

“Hello there, sir,” the woman greeted. “The is the School for Special Youngsters?”   
He nodded and held out a hand. “Nikolai, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss...”

••• 

The mark was dead. Just dead. It was supposed to be easy: pick the apartment lock, slice his wrists and then leave. Under no circumstances was he supposed to be tied to a chair, tortured within an inch of his life and then killed by strangulation. 

Tingles spread down her back as she stared at him and she whipped out a knife as a hand suddenly clasped around her throat, shoving her into the wall. The attacker was supringlsy strong and she realised the hand was metal. She looked up and met the cold, distant gaze of the Winter Soldier, American-born but Soviet-made.

Angrily, she shoved the knife into his neck, only for the attacker’s non-metal hand to easily pluck it from her fingers. She twisted, trying to use the pressure of the wall to get her legs up and kick him but he anticipated her move and pressed closer. 

Struggling to breath, she muttered in her normal accent, “I’m on you’re side here, mate.”   
He squeezed tighter, lifting him as though she weighed nothing. Immediately, she clawed at his metal arm, shoving down the panic. With air failing her, she decided on American to wheeze, “please stop.” 

Almost like she’d actually landed a hit on him, he recoiled, letting her drop. She took in a large gulp but didn’t take the time to think, instead another knife was in her palm as she lunged for him. He sidestepped her, trying to sweep her legs out from under her. She jumped, spun around and lunged. 

“I,” he whispered, voice hoarse with disuse and she skidded to a stop, staring at him, “I don’t want to kill you.”   
She blinked at him. “You’re the one who shoved me into the wall.”   
He frowned. “I- they- I don’t- they said if- who-“   
“Hey, Hey, Hey,” she held up her hands, “I won’t stab you if you don’t shove me in another wall, okay?” 

She stared at the dead man. “You’re handy work I’m guessing?” He nodded. “Okay, that’s okay. My Handlers are going to have a field day.”  
“My Handlers will kill you if you stay here,” he looked so blank. “I should kill you-“  
“-I’m taking that as my cue to leave.” She backed towards the door, palms, with a knife in one, still facing him. “Good luck with your Handlers.” 

He watched her leave, his lifeless eyes becoming brighter as he muttered, “you too.” 

•••

Her hair was a burning inferno, her eyes a sharp, emerald jewel. Natalia, that’s what they said her name was but the girl was more intimate with the term Black Widow. The Soviet super-soldiers weaponized from little girls. 

She knew the Widow saw her as weak. Her shoulders were slumped, her eyes downcast while the Widow stood tall, chin held high. They both were sizing each other up but she’d already picked up on the Widow’s mistake. 

All of them were made the same: too much weapon, not enough human. They thrived by beating one another, punishing the weakest link and portraying the role of every man’s dream woman. It was almost too easy. Every person was a puzzle and while the Widows became the missing piece, the Vipers burnt the board. 

“Begin.” Madame B called, her blonde hair in a tight bun and her eyes a cool grey. The girl didn’t move. Instead, she waited, coiled like her namesake as the Widow crept forward, all lithe limbs and slow smirk. 

Natalia sent a kick, a surpingly soft one, to test the waters but the girl did not react. The foot collided with her stomach and in milliseconds, she was staring up at the Widow from the ground. A larger smirk appeared on her face. It was too easy. 

“I thought she was your best?” Madame B questioned to the Headmistress. “This Alice, this child, is quite pathetic, really.”   
“Wait for it,” the Headmistress whispered as the Widow spun her web around the girl. 

Natalia lunged, red lips bared but the girl rolled, tucking her head under the sharp claws of the Widow. She dived, grabbing the disorientated Widow and pulled, tugging the girl between her thighs and tightening. The Widow was small, skinny and fast but the girl was smaller, curved and stronger. Faster too but cockiness was a fatal flaw. Unfortunately for Natalia, all the Widows possessed the trait. 

Her soft, porcelain face began to purple, her claws digging into the girl’s skin, ripping the fabric of her leggings and drawing blood. She didn’t feel it, however. No, all she felt was the pressure of the younger girls neck between her thighs, the steady thump of her pulse. 

“Enough!” Like a crack of a gun, the girl immediately removed her thighs and stood, bowing to Natalia as she gasped and writhed.   
“You have done well, Alice,” the Headmistress whispered. Madame B stared hard at her, ignoring the bloodshot gaze of Natalia.  
“Are you sure we cannot trade?” The blonde asked and the Headmistress laughed, running a freckled hand through her brunette hair. 

“No. Stop consorting with HYDRA and their asset and I may consider a bargain but I do not expect you to change.”  
“Refusing me is a bad move,” the older woman tutted. “But you’ve always played a strange game, keeping your pawns close and sacrificing all those you hold dear.”   
“At least all of my pawns remain,” the Headmistress responded and Madame B flinched, her eyes brewing with a violent storm. Natalia had rose by the girl’s side but neither moved, nor acknowledged each other, too busy watching the performance of their superiors. 

“How many is it now,” the brunette continued, clasping her hands together to seem non-confrontational, “seven, in the last decade? You’re losing your touch. You breed them with fear, they are merely weapons. You do not see the scared little girl beneath. Alice, what do we say about the Vipers?”   
Without a thought, the young girl muttered, “to be a White Viper, you must be the Little Red Riding Hood hidden behind the Big Bad Wolf’s skin. Our humanity is our weapon.” 

“Teaching them through Once Upon a Time’s will cost you, Elizabeth.” Madame B said, eyes darting between the girl and the Headmistress, who appeared calm and collected. “Natalia, come along.”   
The red-head moved to stand at her shoulder as they walked out of the training room but both stopped at the sound of the Headmistresses voice, breaking through her soft heel clicks.   
“My pawn is not the one with red marks covering her neck, Boryenka.” She turned and a smile spread across her face that sent a shiver through the girl’S back. “Remember, you are in my territory now. Making demands and threatening me will cost you far more than it will cost me. So next time you show up and believe your pawn can successfully take on mine, remember who’s floor you stand upon, who’s roof you remain under. You trained ballerinas with fake memories and cockiness. I trained warriors with metal for bones and fire for blood.” 

She stepped towards the young girl and slowly cupped the girl’s jaw, a soft finger circling her cheek. “Leave in peace and return when you wish but remember sister, as Shakespeare would poetically put it, ‘look like the innocent flower but be the serpent under’t’. If you return to this school with anything less than curiosity or fascination, I will show you no mercy.” 

•••

Sighting the mark, she shifted on the ground. It was boiling and she needed to piss but she pushed that to the back of her mind as he stepped out, his wife hanging off of his arm. 

Inhaling, she narrowed her eyes and with two pulls of the trigger, the bodies drop. Standing, she quickly packed the sniper away and began her trek back to base through the thick undergrowth of the Amazon rainforest. 

“Well done, Alice,” Anya muttered beside her, beautiful tanned skin sparkling the sunlight.   
“It’s not complete yet,” she reminded the woman, “go, cuddle up to his brother and get the documents.”   
From her short pockets and she pulls out a keycard and a wad of papers. “What, you mean these?” 

They smiled at each other. “I love when missions are quick.” The blonde said and Anya laughed.   
“We’re all aware of that, let’s go.”

•••

“Cute dog,” she said from the couch in Barton’s apartment. A yell left his voice at her voice and he spun, arms raised in a boxing position while the yellow Labrador jumped up to lick his clenched fists. “Lucky, right? That’s what the name tag said anyway.”

“Who the fuck are you?” He hissed and she rolled her eyes.   
“Fury sent me to check up on you,” she tilted her head. “Bad mission?”  
“Your his new guard dog, right?” He asked and it wasn’t unkind but she still narrowed her eyes at him.   
“I prefer Mia.” 

He scrunched up his eyebrows and she knew he was confused by her name. Every day she spent in SHIELD, she adopted a different name. A couple of the youngsters didn’t understand, like Barton, but Fury, Hill and May did and that was enough for her. 

“How’d you get in?” He lowered his hands and sniffed the freshly brewed coffee she’d made him. “Do I wanna even know?”  
“Agent Barton,” she chastised, “if I’m able to get into and out of SHIELD undetected, your apartment isn’t going to be a challenge. Plus, your deaf but that isn’t written in any documents...”  
“I don’t like people knowing everything,” he responded and she scanned his messy, bed-hair, wild eyes and outfit of a large shirt and some purple boxers. 

“Like the fact your father abused you and your brother so you decided to run off to the circus only to realise your potential with medieval weaponry. So, you became a freelance assassin, taking any hits to run from the past that wouldn’t stop following you around.” 

He froze and slowly turned to face her, eyes dark and fists clenched. “Do I get to know anything about you?”   
She grinned at him, relaxing into his couch. “I was bred into a programme where they trained little boys and girls to become assassins with the ability to hide in plain sight and kill anyone and anything. It was only after a mutant saved my life was I able to reclaim my identity although it’s still taking some time. I joined SHIELD because it was my way of evening out my sins.” 

A strange look passed through his eyes, it was oddly soft but guarded.   
“Our pasts don’t define us, Barton. Now, are you going to offer me some coffee or am I going to have to tell Fury that his newest agent has some serious unresolved issues?”   
A tiny smile appeared on his face. “Black or white?” 

•••

“Why’d you like this film so much?” James asked one night as they sat on his couch, her legs thrown over his lap, his metal fingers rubbing soothing circles into her ankles.   
“Because Bill Austin looks like Erik Selvig and Sky, the fit one, looks like Howard Stark,” she replied, singing along in a melodic tone.   
“I think I remember him,” he whispered and she smiled at him, big and wide and carefree. It was a rare sight.  
“That’s good. Are you still being indecisive in your favourite colour?” He rolled his eyes.  
“It’s blue.” 

They go back to watching the film and after twenty minutes, he asked, “what would you have done if I never followed you?”  
“I know you would-“ she started and he cut her off, blue gaze intense.  
“-Taegan.”   
She frowned. “I would’ve left you. I said that you have choices and if you didn’t choose me, I wouldn’t have made you.”

The Winner Takes It All filled the air but they’re eyes remained firmly locked.   
“Why?” He asked quietly, voice betraying the vulnerability of the question. “Why’d you even give me a choice?”   
A beat passed and suddenly she was turning away, eyes distant and lost. For a second, he thought he’d found a way to push a wedge between them. 

“Because,” she replied, almost silently but he focused on it over the noise of the TV, “because I took one look at you, all Winter Soldiery and I saw me when I first got out. I was lost and angry and wanting a reason to give up. I’ve seen you fight, Jamie, you wouldn’t have been so resistant unless you thought I was going to take you out. I couldn’t not help you.” 

She looked at him then, hazel eyes piercing right through his soul. “I saved you because I would’ve wanted someone to save me.” 

•••

“Where’s my mom?” The little boy asked as the woman gently tugged him along with her.   
“Waiting at home,” she imitated his American accent. “I’m your new nanny.”   
“Oh, cool.” He looked up at her as they approached his house. “What’s your favourite color?”  
She pretended to think. “Red. What about yours?”   
“I like blue but Mark says blue is boring.” 

“Who’s Mark?” She unlocked the door and led him inside.   
“My big brother,” he frowned as he dropped his bag and boots by the door. “Mom didn’t say I have a new nanny.”  
“The other one fell ill,” she told him and then leaned in and whispered, “I won’t tell your mom if you go upstairs and play with your train-track.” 

He grinned and sprinted up the stairs. She paused, staring at the meticulous kitchen and removed the gun from her waistband. Climbing the stairs, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the silencer, screwing it onto the muzzle. 

Pushing the boy’s bedroom open, she took a deep breath and took the shot. Silence fell over the household.

When the father returned, girlfriend on his arm, he was met with the nanny, sprawled across the living room. By the time he reached his children’s bedrooms, his screams echoed through the neighbourhood. 

From the car across the street, she watched as he sobbed to the police officers on scene, reduced to a shaking ball on the curb. Wiping a stray tear, she took a moment to despise everything she stood for and then pulled away, leaving no trace of her behind.

•••

Natalia stood beside Clint while agents decked in full-on tactical gear and weaponry stared at her through the glass of Fury’s office. She appeared calm despite Fury’s yelling directed at Clint. Outside of the office, agents of all kinds watched the interaction, prepared to step in if necessary.

She told herself she wasn’t going to interfere. It was the honest to God’s truth. Yet when she spotted the familiar red-head, she couldn’t exactly sit by and watch her be chewed out. 

Slamming the door closed behind her, she walked right up to Fury’s mahogany desk and sat in one of the plush seats in front of it. Everyone fell silent at her intrusion.

“If it counts for anything,” she started, sending a grin to the pair, who both showed her very different reactions, “I’d love a Widow on my team.”   
“It’s a good thing your opinion doesn’t count for anything then.” Fury replied and she blew a kiss his way.  
“Glad to know the respect flows both way.” She continued unperturbed. “Red over there saved my life on three separate occasions, all while under the Soviets. Even going against orders one of those times.” This got her some very mixed glances. “I will vouch for her. Not only because of her skillset and how desperately we need a willing agent but because she’s the best Widow I’ve ever encountered.” 

“You want her to join the Strike Team?” He hissed and she tilted her head, showing off the snake tattoo coiled around the back of her right ear.   
“You gave me a chance, Nick, it’s only fair.” Then with more conviction, she turned on Natalia. “Do you remember me, Red?”  
She nodded. “I’m Natasha now.”   
“Pleasure to see you again, Nat. I’ve stuck with Taegan for a couple of years now.” 

Slowly, she said, “when you stopped arriving, I assumed you died.”   
“I’m very hard to kill. How’d the defection go?”   
Her face scrunched up and she stared at her hands and Clint answered for her with a snarky tone, “she stabbed me with my own arrow and preceded to have a melt down in Russian.”  
“Lovely.” She turned to Fury. “I’ll help with her rehabilitation and training. Hill and May would be good too. I’m guessing six months and then she’ll be good for the field.”  
“If something happens-“ Fury started but she cut him off.  
“-I’ll deal with the consequences, Nick.” She spun to the pair and clasped her hands, an overly high-pitched preppy accent filling her next words, as though she was talking to a cute puppy. “Now, who wants to go and get examined?”

•••

“Do you not feel freer, Katya?” The bald man asked, his English accent washing over her wrung out brain. It was soft, soothing but bittersweet.   
“That’s not my name,” she hissed back but lost the anger, lost the sharp edge. She sounded pathetic.   
“I apologise but I would have thought you’d have preferred the name your mother gave you and not the one they did.” 

The man in the corner shifted as she leaned forward, eyes blazing. “You know nothing about me. Just because she messed with my head, doesn’t mean you have any right to what you found.”   
“It’s okay, Logan,” the man waved a hand at the looming figure behind her. “I suppose we have pushed you far too early into your rehabilitation.” 

At that, she stood. “‘Rehabilitation?’ Can you hear yourself? I don’t need to be rehabilitated or babysat. I need to go home.”   
“Where they turned you into an experimented killer?” A gruff voice growled behind her and she spun, raised a finger at him, ignoring the blades popping out of the skin of his knuckles with a shtink.  
“Oh I’m sorry, I don’t remember asking for your opinion.” She turned on the other man. “You don’t understand, if they know I’ve defected, they’ll kill the others in fear of me saying something.”

The bald man stared at Logan, who shrugged his broad shoulders. “I wouldn’t recommend it, Charles, but...”  
Dread lodged itself in her throat. “Wouldn’t recommend what?”   
Charles sighed and connected his eyes with hers. “After Germany, Erik arrived at the Institue you lived at and discovered it burnt to a crisp. He believes some escaped-“  
“-some?” She whispered, hands gripping the side of the desk as she felt the already tiny piece of control slip through her fingers. 

The box in her brain rattled but she kicked it to the back. Breathing deeply, she opened her eyes - when had she closed them? - and was met with Charles’ awe filled gaze. 

“You have extreme control for a mutant who’s powers were enabled.”   
“Don’t,” she gritted out, “talk about control. You let my friends burn because you chose not to take me back. I didn’t ask for you to save me, hell, I didn’t need saving.”  
“They tortured you-“ Logan spoke and she cut him off with a hand.   
“I’m not a damsel in need of a prince!” She stalked towards the door and turned to look at Charles. “I get it: I’m a crazy assassin with a fucked up past but I was okay there, I dealt with it. Now, hundreds of children are dead and I’m sure as hell not keeping that on my conscience. If I’m going to be kept a prisoner, at least leave me the fuck alone.” 

With that, she slammed the door behind her.

•••

Her feet dangled from the side of the building as the pills rattled inside the bottle clasped between her fingers. The night was cool, the stars were out but barely visible. For a still moment, she allowed herself to drift. 

She was a murderer. A good one, too. Yet sometimes she didn’t know if she was real. Her hands were healing tiny welts from the fingernails dipped in. How could she be alive if she did not feel? 

A slam startled her but she spared the approaching man no stare. It was Clint and he was Clint now, not Barton. After a couple of months spent dancing around one another, huddling together in missions and fighting alongside each other, they’d found common ground. He was messed up and so was she. 

Clint walked right up to where she sat, his blond hair messy and his blue eyes wide and concerned. His arms were on show yet again due to the fact he never wore shirts with sleeves and his cheeks were red. Had he ran to find her?

“What the fuck?” He asked and his voice was slightly hoarse, as though he’d been shouting down a phone. “Fury’s close to putting out a missing persons report. If some guy hadn’t rung up-“

Definitely Wade, no one else knew where she was apart from him. God, her stomach churned. He was probably at home in his apartment if he was able to ring in. Not in the woods where she knew he would end up. Today was his daughters death and she was being a fucking idiot by leaving him to his own, very bad, devices. 

She couldn’t help it, though. It wasn’t like the mission was a bad one. She sort of wished it was so she could blame her sudden, horrific low on that. No, the mission in Turkey flew by rather quickly. It was disappointing how quickly her mark was able to be taken down.

Rattling the pills, she started hard at the bottle, ignoring whatever spat out of Clint’s mouth. Deep down, she knew she was getting bad again. Wade had obviously picked up on it too, probably worried that she’d do something stupid. 

Silence snapped itself across the roof and this time she did turn to see Clint’s frown and shiver. “You’re not listening, are you?”   
She rolled her eyes and turned back around as he questioned further, “what is up with you?”   
“What isn’t?” She snorted back, not bothering to cover up her self-deprecating thoughts. 

Annoyingly enough, the reason her low hit was because of a group of girls, coming home from school, chatting about how Cindy and Todd has broken up which meant that Lucy finally and her chance of being prom queen because Todd was so going to be prom king- 

“You went to normal school, didn’t you?” She asked, trying to recall the facts on his file. Normally it would be an easy task but today was no ordinary day.   
“Yeah,” he nodded, “I dropped out in high school. Why?”   
She frowned. “What do you know about me?”  
“You’re an ex-assassin who joined S.H.I.E.L.D. You were trained as a kid. You’ve told me before.”

She stilled as she stared out at the other buildings, watching from her peripheral as he snuck closer and sat beside her. 

“I was five,” she whispered and she could feel his stare on the side of her face and she turned away. “I first killed someone when I was seven. After that, my recollection of time is shifty but I know that by fourteen, it wasn’t only my mind they had control over.” 

It was dark and the Headmistress said that it was her time to become a full woman. He was tall with dark eyes and a wolffish smile. She did everything he asked and by the morning, he was dead and she was given an extra meal. Even now, the thought of his hands, his mouth, his body sent a shiver coursing through her spine. 

Clint appeared disgusted. “You were fourteen-“  
“-I was sent on a mission,” she continued because she couldn’t face what he thought of her. Everything she did was to survive. “Infiltrate a school where a prominent businessman’s daughter went. It was mostly recon and then by the year was up, I’d have my mark and be out. I must’ve been only twenty-seven, maybe a bit older.

“I was there for six months.” She dropped her English accent and imitated the southern drawl her persona had. “Emily Davies, sixteen and loving life. My family had moved up from Texas and I was going to be a teacher when I left school.” She paused, dropped the accent. “I didn’t realise how close I’d get with them, how easy it was to be normal.

“I slept in a house where a Handler and one of the other students posed as my parents. We ate together, I’d go to school, come home, do my homework and go out. It was easy to get within their circles. By the second month, I became best friends with the marks daughter. She was called Clara and-“ 

Fuck. She paused, rattled the pill bottle, grounded herself. “She was blonde, like me, pretty, smart, always telling a joke. We’d have sleepovers and share dark secrets. Little did she know everything I said was fake and every piece she told me was relayed back to my Handler.”

It was comfortable, she remembered. Normal was a relative term in her life but God, did she suddenly want it. Every day was filled with laughs and tears and hormones. For the first time in her life, she felt human. 

“Seven months down the line, I get a message that the mark has changed.” Inhaling the crisp air she tilted her head away from Clint. He couldn’t see the tears forming. “We had to move away and I remember crying in her arms because I knew what would happen in three weeks time.” 

Silence spread across the roof and slowly, she turned to Clint, his face carefully blank.  
“What happened?”   
“Three weeks later, I showed up at her house after dark, threw pebbles on her window and asked her for help.” She laughed bitterly. “She followed because she trusted me and I lead her into the forest by her house. Some of the kids would host parties there. Then, when we were far enough in, I told her I was sorry and told my Handlers later that my tears were purely for the believability and shot her.” 

She missed the part of sobbing over the child’s body, clutching the corpse tightly and screaming soundlessly. By the time they found her, she was rocking back and forth between the trees, eyes wide and empty. 

“The next week, I was back to waking up in a cold bed, eating barely enough and teaching kids to be killers.” She heaved a sigh. “That mission has stuck with me because I was normal. I had a mum and a dad and issues that were normal ones like is Russ going to ask me to dance and fretting over exam grades. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder constantly. I didn’t have to wonder when the penny would drop. I didn’t have to be haunted.” 

She rattled the bottle. “Now I’m on special drugs that I never take, with more diagnoses than possible and appointments with therapists I won’t visit. I’m placed on suicide watch and I’m fucking tired. So fucking tired. My life is the definition of a bad joke and my friend, who I trust, is currently suffering and I’m sitting on this godforsaken roof wondering if jumping from this height is high enough.” 

Her eyes glanced to Clint’s, which showed dark, endless pain through the blue pools. They had both suffered. They were both still children, stuck in an adults body, wondering where it all went wrong. 

“I just want it to stop.” She muttered finally. Her voice was small and weak and she didn’t care because the energy in her was gone. The darkness swam beneath her skin, behind her hazel eyes, weaving into her galaxy hair. Was she the wolf or the little girl? Was she the machine they made her? Was she even human anymore?

Slowly, Clint edged closer, callused hand falling atop hers. “I think of the universe and how there is so much out there we don’t know so I must have some reason. I’m still deciding if it’s for a good one or a bad one.” It was quick but clear and she tilted her head to find a sad smirk plastered onto his lips.  
“Very philosophical,” she sighed back and he squeezed her hands.  
“Have something better, do you?”   
She rolled her eyes, digging her elbow into his side. “I do, actually.”  
“Well,” he threw his arms wide. “Share with the class. The world is listening.” 

From atop the buildings the sun was being to rise and she pointed at it until his eyes drifted to the purpling light. 

“I make a list of all the things I’d miss.” The colours ebbed and flowed, a palate of perfection painted just for them. “I’d miss sunrises because they remind me that every day is new. I’d miss sunsets because they mean that every day, no matter how bad, will end. I’d miss dogs and cats and snakes because I don’t give a shit what you say, snakes are beautiful beings. I’d miss fireworks and warm blankets and snow and Canada. I’d miss-“  
“-Canada?” He laughed and she nudged him again.  
“What? I love Canada.” She turned to him. “What about you? Huh? What would Hawkeye miss?”

He paused and she made a list for him in her head as she waited. Lucky, coffee, sleeping, purple, pizza-  
“I’d miss you, Tea.” His eyes were soft and for a second, she forgot herself. This reckless blond with a messed up brain and even worse humour was just as damaged but he cared. He wasn’t lying. Fuck. He wasn’t lying, he cared. “Remember that you idiot. Hill and Fury and May and that guy that rung in would miss you. I’d miss you, you beautiful human being.”   
She was not crying, that was her story and she was sticking with it. She dropped the bottle and lunged across the difference between them. 

“Thank you.” 

•••

“This is awkward,” she muttered, American accent in place as a man dressed in a suit, accompanied by a brunette woman in all black sat at her kitchenette. “Home invasion isn’t supposed to be this calm. I’m going to call the police now.”  
“I don’t think that’s wise, Miss Richards,” the man spoke, standing and holding out a hand. “I’m Phil Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D.”   
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Ah yes, because I know what that means.”

“It means Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division,” the woman replied as she stared at Phil’s hand.   
“And you are, other home invader?”   
“Maria Hill, deputy director.” 

Phil dropped his hand as she plucked her phone from her back pocket. “Cool, who’s the director?”  
“We’re not at liberty to discuss-“  
“-but you are at liberty to enter my home without a warrant,” she interrupted. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the police?” 

“We’ve heard that your currently unemployed, Miss Richards.” Phil carried on. “We’re willing to offer you a job.”  
“As what, a creepy FBI spy?” She scoffed. “I can barely lie, let alone hunt down scary people.”   
“I would be inclined to believe you,” Phil said, briefly looking at Maria, “apart from one detail.”  
“And what’s that?” She asked, fiddling with the phone in her hands.   
“You’re too calm.” Maria replied and the woman let out a laugh. 

“There a thing called ‘pretending’, google it sometime. When some random people in spy gear show up in your home like a crappy thriller, the worse thing to do is to freak out.” She walked over to her door, unlocked it and held it open. “Leave now, I won’t call the cops.”  
Maria looked annoyed at how Phil immediately began to walk out of the door, but she quickly followed behind. 

“Just one last thing, Miss Richards,” he said and she paused from shutting her door.   
“Yes?”  
He smiled at her. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other very soon.”

•••

Cuddled up in his warmth, she stares up at his face, features soft in sleep. His tongue pecks out between full lips, his eyelashes fluttering on his high cheekbones, his sharp jawbone painted golden in the light. 

Yesterday, he was wreck, the shell of a man she knew. Blue eyes frosty, teeth bared, metal hand holding her against the wall. 

Today, he was soft, the man she could only guess thrived in the flurries. Large laughs echoing through the loft, fluffy hair bouncing, chest heaving with happiness.

“What?” He grumbled, eyelids snapping open, resting on her. “Is there something on my face?”   
He was warm and comforting, even as she felt his metal and tug her closer. She shook her head, burying her face in his neck. She shouldn’t want this, not with him, not when they’re both messes. Wade warned her. Logan warned her. Jean warned her. 

“Thinking about the future,” she replied, hating how she could never have this. Days spent in his arms, laughing at his jokes, holding him while he cried, they were a sign of friendship, of companionship between two broken souls.   
“That’s dangerous,” he laughed and she shoved herself impossibly closer. “What’re you thinkin’?”

You, she wanted to mutter, my future is you because no one has ever made me feel safe but you. Instead, she sighed. 

“Planning the play for the Serbia raid,” he stilled at her words but she carried on, “it’s going to be freezing and I hope to God there isn’t any little killers. I’m taking my good gun in case.”   
“How long will you be gone for?” He breathed against her hair and she shrugged as best she could.   
“Two weeks at most,” she smiled into his neck, “I’ll be back before you know it, Jam.” 

I’ll miss you, she whispered later as she disappeared from his apartment. The words left unsaid hung between them like a thin piece of string. Little did she know, he was whispering the same thing. 

•••

She was seven, tiny and confused as to why her English lesson was cut short. Surrounded by the rest of her classmates and her best friend Joe, they were led to a corridor where they were each called into a room. Bangs would go off around three minutes into the child disappearing into the room. The child wouldn’t come out. 

Anya disappeared into the room, a couple of minutes afterwards a bang sounded and she was called in. The room was large, appearing to be a dance studio and standing in one corner were a couple of her classmates. In another corner, a huddle, of what seemed to be bodies. A table was smack bang in the middle, two women and a man sat behind the table. 

“Headmistress, Emily and Nikolai.” She greeted.  
“Hello, Little Viper.” Something in his voice made her pause because she wanted him to keep speaking.   
“Alice is currently excelling in all of her lessons,” the teacher behind her said.  
“Do you like the School, child?” The headmistress asked and she nodded.  
“I really like it here.” She said, enthusiastically.  
“What do you think of your future?” 

She was seven, her future plans consisted of hanging out with her friends and praying for snow. Yet she’d been asked by a woman, who looked like she knew things, like she could have an active role in securing whatever she wanted. She heard a whisper in the back of her mind. Something was wrong but she didn’t know what.

She went with the best option. “I want a secure future. What would you suggest?”   
Matching smirks crawled upon the adults faces and Nikolai turned to the headmistress.   
“She’s the one.” He swivelled around to face her. “Do you want to join an organisation?”   
He wasn’t really asking, the choice had already been made for her but his voice was so alluring, she couldn’t resist nodding. 

A second later, a man entered with a figure, their face covered by a bag. He dropped the figure onto a chair, produced seemingly out of thing air. She wasn’t really paying attention to her surroundings because Emily was standing and producing a gun. It was tiny in her hands and heavy. 

Emily nudged her in front of the slouched figure, quietly showing her how to hold it and how to shoot. She listened intently and nodded along before taking up the stance and holding the pistol up. 

“Go on, Little Viper,” Nikolay said, his voice egging her on. “Be a good girl and join us.” 

Heart in her throat, she kept her eyes open and pulled the trigger. The body jerked, blood pouring down the baggy, dirty shirt. She was aiming for the body but with the kickback, the bullet ended up as a headshot. She stared in horror as the figure crumpled to the ground, blood staining the floorboards crimson. One of the boys came over with a bucket and cloth, dragging the body off to where the pile was. Only then did she realise the true extent to what she’d done.

A warm, strong hands clasped itself on her tiny shoulder.   
“Well done, Little Viper,” Nikolai whispered. “A headshot, no less. You’re going to make a fine Viper. I’m looking forward to it.”

•••

“Why are we drinking again?” Wade moaned, masked head hanging off of the coffee table. “Because I have a healing factor and this is doing nothing but making me feel worse than I already feel and that feels gross. Like face full of alien goo gross. Like I need to piss but the trash can is too far away. Like-“  
“-Like, Oh my God, I just joined S.H.I.E.L.D. and I can’t get drunk either,” she muttered, lying across the back of the house. 

“Oh,” Wade said, tilting his head to stare at the woman’s blank gaze at the dirty ceiling - how blood got there is so not his fault, at all, shut up- and winced, “gross. That’s extra gross. Why would you do that? I know the author needed you to join S.H.I.E.L.D. but extreme gross. I’d take unaliving everyday of the week.”   
“You do that anyway.” She replied, turning to look at him. “The reason your so bummed out, and drinking, is because that mob guy got away.”  
“And shot me in the dick, don’t forget that juicy detail,” he replied.

They stared at each other for a long moment and she finally let herself crumble. “I’m a fucking idiot, aren’t I?” She murmured, eyes hollow. “I should’ve tried for the suburban life, the good ol’ American dream.”   
“Snookums,” he slid off of the table, “people like us aren’t meant for the American dream. You’re not even American. You’re English with chunk of Irish. Wait, don’t you have Russian-“ he froze, pulled out his phone and began to type before scrolling down, “-hold that thought, we haven’t reached that point yet.” 

“I should’ve done what Aspen did,” she continued, rolling her eyes at Wade’s strange but not unusual behaviour. “Got a husband or wife, adopted a couple of kids and lived out in a rural area with a job like a writer. But I suppose your right-“  
“-I’m always right, I read ahead-“ he jumped in.   
“-people like us don’t get that.” She frowned. 

“Think of it this way,” Wade said, and moved to sit on her stomach but she rolled away with a curse and groan. Feeling a prick, he stared over his shoulder at a knife impaled in there. “Well that wasn’t nice. Anyway,” he plucked the knife out of his back, “blah blah blah, no shitty diapers or annoying spouses or mortgages. You get to be a badass, frankly terrifying assassin with friends in high places and a brilliant, spectacular, fuck-buddy-“  
“-Wade, honey, we’re not fucking-“  
“-no, but you wish you could have this,” he said with a lot of sarcasm. 

With a fond look, she leaned over a kissed his masked cheek. “I would fuck you, Hell, we might’ve been a cute couple but we’re both a bit too messed up and you said that the author hasn’t planned on us being paired together.”   
He nodded and she could practically see the large grin through the mask. “Yeah, you’re with the Romanian Heartthrob. If only...”

•••

“I never expected to end up here,” Natasha muttered in Scotland, her hair dyed a dark brown.  
“As in a freezing cold hotel on a stupid recon mission because Pigeon decided to get stabbed in the liver.” She snarked back, eyes glaring out of the window at the bar across the street.   
“First of all, stop with the snark. Second of all, he was shot and it clipped his liver. Third, I mean here, in S.H.I.E.L.D.. All my dreams and aspirations revolved around the KGB and Red Room. I never even considered a life after that.” 

With a sigh, the woman turned to Natasha. “What did life of a KGB agent entail?”  
She looked embarrassed, which really showed how far their friendship had evolved. “You know about Shoshotov already and children were off the table but I always imaged we’d adopt and settle in Moscow, like Nana. Far away from the missions but close enough to keep updated. What about you?”

Closing her eyes she paused, exhaling a deep breath. “Matt was my partner,” Natasha have her a vulnerable look, she’d never talked about this before so openly. “He was built like a brick-shit-house. We nicknamed him The Tank. I’d never been into blondes but he was cute and efficient and he had this elegance about him. We were posing as husband and wife for a mission and as we were talking about our fake life, I came to the horrid realisation that I could’ve had that. If I’d survived the war, I could’ve gotten married and had a couple of kids and lived with the white picket fence.”

“But?” Natasha asked, quietly and she turned to her, a too wise look filling her eyes.   
“I’m not ashamed of who I am and if given the chance to have the white picket fence or this, I’d sure as hell choose this.”   
“Why?” 

She turned to look at the man in the bar, his head thrown back in a bellow, showing off the tanned skin of his neck. “Because I never would’ve met you or Clint or Fury or any of the others. I live in chaos, in a shitty apartment and I always look over my shoulder but I’m happy. You, this job, this life, it makes me feel complete. And maybe, we aren’t put on this world for any reason other than evolution but I like to think we all have a reason. If mine’s playing the villain or a fucked-up character then so be it. I might as well enjoy my limited time.” 

•••

“Fucking aliens,” she groaned, “in the fucking sky with a fucking God.”   
“I thought you said you’d fuck him when he showed up at your apartment?” Jessica asked, face blank but eyes amused.   
“That was before he tried to take over the world,” she snarked back. Grabbing her ‘assassin hooded-jacket’ as Wade would put it, she left the windowsill. 

“Where are you going?” Jessica asked, fingers stilling on the laptop keys.  
“Well someone’s got to help-“  
“-defrosted Captain America is down there,” Jessica reminded her, “so I honestly don’t think you’re needed.”   
“Jess, my perfect jewel,” she ignored the insults that spilled from the woman’s mouth at the mention of her superhero name, “I do want to keep in Fury’s good graces.” 

She climbed up to the roof and cut away the duct tape on her box. Blackness crept along her skin, darkening her eyes and burning her hair dye. 

“Listen,” she whispered, approaching the edge of the roof, “we do this in a calm way, okay? I’m letting you have free rein because we need to help people so play nice.” 

Her veins became black as spilled from her fingertips, swirling around her as she jumped from building to building, getting closer to the wormhole in the sky. 

With a flourish, she slammed her hand onto the roof she stood upon and watched as spikes ripped across the sky, impaling any alien that got too close. 

Jumping down, she pulled up her turtle neck, shrugged the hoodie over head and approached a group of aliens surrounding a family while muttering, “Why is it always the hot ones? Why can’t there be an attractive guy who doesn’t want to take over the world? That’s all I ask.”

•••

Looking down at the mobster’s daughter she let out a lot, aggravated sigh. “Have you learnt your lesson?”   
The brunette rolled her eyes. “Never go on holiday because a bunch of robots will send the entire country floating.”   
“You’re dad better pay me double for this,” she groaned and the beautifully tanned woman laughed.   
“I’m definitely employing you again, Smith.”   
“Yeah, yeah.” 

Tingles spread through her skin and she snapped to attention, surveying the scene in front of her. Upon the floating aircraft - of course Nick Fury was here with his Avengers - she stared at Clint running across the terrain to a child, stuck in the rubble. 

“Fuck,” she stood and waved a hand at Sara. “Stay here, don’t move, I’ll be back in like a minute.”   
Without another word, she dodged the other residents of the aircraft to stand at the edge. She watched, sliced away the duct tape on her box and waited. 

Gunshots sounded but she focused on him, feeling the most leave her fingertips as it dissolved into the air.   
“Stealth,” she hissed and suddenly, a blue blur whizzed in front of Clint. Groaning, she snapped up a shield, for the both of them, out of her blackness and felt the bullets collide with the mist. Every hit, felt upon her skin, as though she herself was being shot at. 

As quickly as the bullets came, they stopped and she dropped the shield, shoving the blackness back into its box. Clint stood, stared at the boy, who seemed shocked as red mist exploded over the buildings. 

Hurtling through the streets, a girl collided with the boy, sobbing as she clutched him. For a moment, she watched from the ship before retreating back to the corner, only to find Sara in deep conversation with an older woman. 

The woman pointed at her and Sara grinned. “Yeah, she’s my bodyguard. Cool, right?”  
“God, I hate you.”


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More sweet, sweet pain. I try. I do. 
> 
> Enjoy with some mention to some bad stuff.

The predator didn’t move from her wooden cot as a metallic screech filled the air. The door to her cell swung open and she calmly regarded her visitor.

“A Russian prison of all places,” Yelena murmured, blonde hair parted into braids, steely blue eyes focused on her. “Why have you not escaped yet?”   
She did not reply, simply rose an eyebrow. “Ah,” Yelena continued, stepping in and resting against the wall, “hiding, are we? I never thought I’d see the day when a Viper hid.” 

She did not reply. Yelena blew out a breath. “I’d offer you a once in a lifetime opportunity to exploit my kindness but I have a feeling that I’m not wanted here.” 

She did not reply. Instead, she looked at the bars of her cell and let a vicious smile stain her lips. Standing, the Speed-cuffs fell from her wrists and she tilted her head in a feline manner. Yelena edged towards the open door, spotting how little in control the woman in front of her was. 

“Nyx?” She whispered, hands gripping the blades she’d hidden within her coat. Let it be said, Yelena was not afraid but she’d never seen the woman become her namesake before, only heard the offhand rumours about her. Now, facing down the silent killer, she truly felt out of her depth. 

The woman assessed her, hazel eyes appearing black in the low light. Then, with the moment of a slithering serpent, she flowed forward until she was less than an inch from Yelena. Freezing, she refused to drop her eyes, staring into the dark, blank pools. 

A siren suddenly blared and the woman stepped back as a guard rushed in, gun aimed for her forehead. Her smirk widened. 

Yelena watched as she effortlessly disarmed the guard and shot him, all with bored eyes and serpents’ smile. His body hit the floor and she gestured for Yelena to go first with a sweeping bow. Under normal circumstances, Yelena would rise to the challenge but the purple-haired woman was more animal than human. Enough years learnt in the unforgiving wildness taught her to never show a predator her back. 

“You’re the one with plan in place,” she stated and she rose an eyebrow again but nodded after a moment. So the siren was her. Stalking out of the cell, the woman led in only a black tank-top and baggy discoloured sweatpants. She wore no shoes or socks and had no weapons on her apart from the gun she’d stolen off of the guard. How she picked the lock on her handcuffs and set off the alarm was a mystery and how she walked the corridors with ease was terrifying. 

She turned to one of the doors and it groaned open. Yelena simply stared as she walked in, grabbed a girl with wide, terrified eyes and marched out. 

“A passenger?” She asked because generally, what the fuck? Rubbing a hand down her face, she gripped the daggers tighter. “I should’ve stayed in Japan.”   
“I’m sorry!” The girl yelled in Russian, hands raised in a surrender as the woman pushed her through an unlocked door. “I didn’t say anything! Please-“  
“-you’re not doing yourself any good,” Yelena replied as they marched down a set of stairs and into an office where clothes were laid out in piles. “Whatever she wants you for, she’s going to get it.”

She spared the woman a look as she dressed quickly. “I would ask why but I’m-“  
“-Nadia,” the woman muttered, English accent in place that sounded to sweet to be coming from the killer’s mouth, “is Nana’s prodigy.”  
“So you’re not hiding,” Yelena responded, all to glad with the fact she was speaking, and then frowned at the shaking girl. “She’s kind of pathetic.”   
“She’s a lot more deadly than she looks,” the woman replied, kitted out in a guard’s outfit. 

“Why Nyx?” Yelena asked, knowing she was pushing her luck but doing it anyway. All black eyes suddenly snapped to her and Yelena swore that the woman secretly was a Goddess in disguise. 

With black mist flowing from her fingertips and a devilish smirk, she grabbed ahold of the gun and the girl and muttered just as the door burst open with armed guards, “I’m bored, shoot me.” 

•••

The first thing Taegan realises as she pulls herself from memories long forgotten, long seared into her mind, is that Hulk Arrows fucking hurt. It’s not even a deep ache that would be gone in minutes, it’s a ‘oh-my-god-I-think-I’m-dying’ ache. 

When her eyes snap open, barely blinking at the bright light, already aware of how empty the room is, she suddenly despises being assassin. For once, she wishes that every time she awoke, she wasn’t waiting for the inevitable fight. 

Once aware of the empty room - no windows, just stark white walls, a bed and a two way mirror - she scans herself. She’s still wearing her clothes, even if it just her under armour, thankfully. Her rings her gone, though, and there’s a drip in her hand which is just gross. 

Taking a breath, she looks across at the heart monitor by her head, watching her even heart beats. For a moment, she relaxes under the pain mediations, lulled into an almost sleep by the steady beats. 

“My Little Viper.” Nikolai’s voice rings in her ears and only then does she notice the lack of restraints. She stares at her limp hands and for a split second, she nearly laughs. Do they really think that an empty room will be a deterrent? Anything is a weapon of you try hard enough. Absolutely anything.

That’s the precise second guilt lodges in her throat. Sam: dislocated shoulder, possible head injury. Steve and James: possible head injury, maybe a broken bone or two. Natasha: bruised ribs, possible sternum fracture. Clint: multiple fractures, possible headshot or bullet sustained injury. 

Why would she need a weapon when she is one? A perfectly carved statue, moulded metal machinery, scarred but abstract painting. Every lesson she was ever taught whizzes through her brain as she struggles the breath. The dull ache in her bones recedes as her body tries to fight the non-existence attacker cutting off her oxygen. She’s so stupid, stupid, stupid-

The door opens and Natasha, alive and breathing and there, walks in, shutting it behind her. Taegan notices the lack of hand sanitiser on the door as she tries to avoid the red-head’s eyes, normally hospitals have that equipment. She spares Natasha a once over, takes in the set of her shoulders, her carefully blank expression. Oh. Suicide watch it is.

“You didn’t kill anyone, Taegan,” Natasha starts but Taegan can’t look anywhere but the bruises littering the side of her head. A hit of the ears and temple. Deadly if used right. “Sam’s shoulder is back in place, the supersoldiers are fine, Barton is still Barton, unfortunately.” 

She’s trying to joke, lighten up the situation. Taegan remains still, staring at the side of her head. Natasha falls silent and Taegan has no choice but to look at her eyes. They’re completive and concerned. 

“Why,” she asks, her voice a mere monotone, “am I not handcuffed?”   
“You’re not a prisoner here,” Natasha replies and Taegan raises her eyebrows.   
“Do you know easy it would be to kill you right now? To pick the lock on the door and hunt down your friends?”  
“You’re not triggered anymore,” Natasha says and Taegan cannot shake the unease.   
“I can still feel him.” She whispers, shifting on the bed and rising it up. “He’s still there.” 

It’s quiet and she fiddles with the remote control for the bed. Once she finds a comfortable position, her heart in her throat, she flicks her eyes up to spot Natasha staring at her, a strange look in her eyes. 

“Did you know how many weapons you had on you?” She asks and Taegan shakes her head.  
“Eight knives, double-stacked in your boots, two garrotte wires around your ankles and two in your cuffs. Speaking off, poisoned Viper Fangs, with two extra knives atop. Two guns in your thigh hostlers, two in your chest hostlers and one you used on the soldiers. Two knives also strapped around you waist and two knives in the chest holsters. A couple of poisoned rings and a deadly hair pin. You even had four throwing stars in the bottom of your boots. That’s thirty-one weapons.”  
“I am able to count.”   
“You’re not seeing the point,” Natasha snaps back. “You had thirty-one ways to take us down and you used none of them.” 

Taegan blinks at her. “Ah, Yes, That makes me feel so much better to know that I was able to injury a bunch of superheroes with just my body.”   
“But You didn’t, did you?” Natasha asks. “You hurt us, sure, but you fought back. You didn’t kill any of us. That was your mission, right? Kill us but you didn’t.” 

She doesn’t mention that supposedly she knows where he is. Every place she even considers wouldn’t be viable: either too open or too closed off. She knows, deep down, that he’s not in the old base or in the old Widow’s base. Not America, which is annoying and also terrifying because she knows he’s not there. Or Asia, or Russia, or Canada. So Europe. Not at all helpful but it’s a start. A start that will assist in no way because she’s never going to be able to contact her clients because her phone is gone and she’s never going to be able to leave this goddamn place-

“Taegan,” Natasha mutters, stepping closer, eyes focused on the still rhythmic heartbeat, “everything okay?”  
“Pain,” she replies easily enough and is not a lie but it’s not the truth. “Achy.”   
Natasha nods and stares at her head. “In case you have noticed, your hair is purple again.”  
“Oh,” Taegan sighs. Stupid powers. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “Cool. Did the other avengers notice?”   
“Yes but after telling them it had something to do with your background, they backed off.”

After a moment of Taegan nodding, Natasha asks, “can Bruce come in here and check you?” And oh. There it is. The question that leaves her broken all over again. She may not be a prisoner but they all know how capable she is now. Taegan can hear the words she uttered earlier that day about how one of the agents would try and bring out the Hulk. Would she have tired? 

Nikolai’s face stains her brain and for a wild moment, she wants to submit, become his perfect assassin. She was the best, from day one. It would be so much easier to just hide under Nyx’s skin, to be able to dissociate enough that she could become what he wanted. She could’ve killed them, like he wanted, she could’ve found him and they could’ve gone home. 

For a second, she thinks she’s going to cry. Home. She’s never had a home, not since her mother left her on the school’s step, not since she left the school and moved from agency to agency. 

She is so broken, so flawed. She doesn’t deserve this, the care and the friendship. She deserves the cool bite of bullets and blades. She deserves the death that always escapes her grasp, no matter how badly she wants it. 

Taking a breath, she school’s a smile that has Natasha blinking at how easy and happy she looks before nodding. “Sure,” Taegan says, “even if my hands were tied I wouldn’t do anything.”

The door opens and Doc walks in with a concerned smile. He doesn’t acknowledge Natasha nor does he approach Taegan like a wild animal. Only then does she realise he’s probably used to people treating him like that, trying to put the beast in a cage. Maybe they’re more alike than she first thought. Like him, she shows a human face with a monster lurking beneath. 

He checks the monitors and then approaches her shoulder. “How are you feeling?”  
“Like I’ve been hit with an eighty tonne bus,” she replies and his smile becomes slightly more genuine.  
“You were hit with a-“  
“-Hulk arrow,” she finishes as he begins to pull the bandage away. He stills and looks at her. “What? I know Clint’s other arrow types and that one was different. Plus, it put me on my arse rather quickly.”   
“Have you ever considered becoming a detective?” She let out a surprised laugh and he rips the rest of the bandage off. 

He pauses as he starts at the unmarred, pink skin. It’s freshly healed and even Taegan can feel the medication and darkness easing the aches and pains. Within an hour, she’ll be back to full health. 

He heaves a sigh and raises his eyes to meet hers. “When were you going to tell me that you heal extremely quickly?" He asks and she gives him a cheeky grin that drains her energy. This is worse than a mission, at least there she has a goal.   
"Doc, I heal extremely quickly." He throws his hands into the air and lets out a groan.

"Anything else I should know?"   
She sends him a serious, worried look. "Should I tell you about the whole 'turning into a dragon thing' or do I wait until date three?"  
Doc laughs and removes the bandages, throwing them into the bin at the end of the bed. 

“Right,” he says, clasping his hands in front of him, “you should be fine but I’d lay off the shoulder for a while. Finish the treatment and then you can go on your way.”   
Her eyes meet Natasha’s. “They want to speak to me, don’t they?”   
“Yes, they do.” 

Great. Skimming through her past covers, she settles on Marie, the woman of the Italian Mob, the woman with soft spoken words and submissive personality but all rage and barely concealed sadness beneath. Pulling on that woman’s skin is difficult, normally she would spend at least an hour becoming her cover but she can’t now. Later, when she’s allowed a shred of privacy, she’ll allow herself to break, to shatter at the seams. 

She slowly removes the blanket, counting down from a hundred in Italian and thinking up phrases Marie would’ve used. Sliding across the bed, she lets her legs dangle for a moment, the cold of the room nipping at her exposed toes. When she turns to Natasha, she holds up her fluffy socks and boots. Tying the laces, she stands on barely hidden shaky legs and grips the stand for the fluid leaking into her hand. 

“Let’s get this over with then,” she mutters, Marie producing an easy smile on her face as Doc keeps the door open. They both eye her for different reasons as she walks past them. He stares at her because of her soft, soothing words, movements slow and rehearsed as though preparing for the slap her husband would give her for anything less than perfect. She stares at her because she knows what Taegan is doing, knows that a wall is being carefully built to shield her mind and body from the horrible but inevitable. Natasha had been there, hiding behind Black Widow at S.H.I.E.L.D. and shielding Natalia from the possible and clearly probable rejection. 

Every time she hits zero, she goes again, calming her buzzing brain. Taegan hides behind Marie, floating in a haze that comforts them both. All of her other senses are working overtime, trying to compensate. Doc has gum in his pocket and a wallet in the other; his breaths are even and he’s wearing an everyday cologne, his glasses have been freshly cleaned. Natasha has no weapons but she does have an arrow necklace and an expensive watch, her eyes are staring straight ahead but Taegan knows better than to believe she’s not watching Taegan from the corner of her eye. 

She knows, deep down, that something like this would happen. That someone she cares about would get hurt. Everyone around her always gets hurt. She truly is her namesake, an innocent appearing creature with poison running through her veins. Everything she touches gets corroded, burnt away, replaced with something scarred and disfigured. She can find behind her Red Hood but she will forever be the Wolf.

It’s then, thinking about the Wolf, that she remembers her open box. The darkness is free, roaming around her body like a circuit, lighting everything up. Every breath, every step, every thought is easier. Slowly, in a way only Marie can pull off, she tugs the blackness in. It coils and twists but does not refuse the order. Slinking back into its box, it watches as she tapes the lid on. Now is the time for control. 

They enter the living room and for once, Taegan ignores the urge to read the room, instead she sits down on the nearest couch and stares out the window. Marie would never scan the faces of her husbands friends, only doing so later when he was drunk and she was on clearup. The night sky is getting darker, fading from sea blue to grape purple. She begins her countdown again. 

She gets to thrifty before Rogers asks, “how’d you do it?” She turns and lets her eyes roam over the faces in a careless, Marie way. They’re all present but each now have a guarded expression on their faces, even Clint. Worryingly, she cannot read James, who sits with his Henley and jeans, blue eyes staring at her intensely, hands clasped in his lap.  
“Do what?” She replies, finally meeting Rogers’ eyes.  
“Take us down.” He says and Sam jumps in, “only he’s been able to get that close.” 

James tenses but remains silent and god, does she hate it. She wants him to hug her or slap her or something other than his stare. For a moment, they regard each other and she feels the fluttering of her pulse in her ears. She’s never been stiff, trained to be fluid and serpent-like but now, she doesn’t know how to properly act. Being ripped apart has that effect. 

“You’re a gentlemen,” she replies bluntly, staring out the window again because she can’t look at them, not this family of dysfunctional people, who care so much, “you don’t want to hurt me, nor really. So if I act quickly, you have just enough stiff Soldier in you to be taken down. Natasha fights too much like me, as long as I adapt and remember my training, it isn’t difficult to catch her off guard. Sam, well I’ve never seen him fight so I was cautious, that’s why I went for him first, so that I can learn his style. James I’ve seen fight before, it was simply muscle memory.” 

She doesn’t mention how much she knows he cares about her, how it was almost too easy to use the emotion against him. Love is for children, Nat would say and Taegan isn’t in love but it’s been a year of something between them. She doesn’t dwell on that thought. 

“Your training?” Rogers asks and she rolls her eyes.   
“I thought Natasha told you I was an assassin? I was trained in something like the Red Room. I was bred into a program of killers.”  
“So why did Legolas win?” Stark butts in and she raises an eyebrow at him, urging him to explain. “You took down Cap, Natashalie, Wilson and McBroody and yet Legolas, the guy with the bow and arrow, won.”   
“Hey!” Clint yells, throwing his hand up into the air. “I’m a brilliant marksman with other talents. You’re not just a billionaire, are you? No, you’re an asshole.” 

“Clint did bring in Black Widow in her glory days,” Taegan interrupts when Stark opens his mouth to argue. “He’s an ex-assassin, who used to work in the circus. You are aware that out of all the snipers in the world, both of the best ones are in this room right now?”   
“Shut up,” Clint mumbles, “don’t tell them my secrets.”   
“So he was able to win because he’s a better assassin?” Rogers asks and she shakes her head, wonders if the drugs are making her impatient.   
“No, he was able to win because he plays dirty.” She states the fact like she’s speaking to a child. “All of you focus on emotions, emotions in a fight lead to death. Fighting is like choreographing a dance. Fighting isn’t about thinking, ‘my foot goes here and then I block this punch’, it’s like a beat in a song, you have to feel it. It’s all in the muscle memory. If you have time to think, you aren’t prepared. 

“Good men tend to disarm not kill: easy to exploit. Black Widows’ get cocky. Guys that pickpocket and survived on the streets have to make the tough calls. Clint posed a threat that didn’t think, that would kill if need be, plus, he made me angry. When he spoke, the detrrigging was painful, fucking hell it was, and while I was in pain, the assassin didn’t want to leave so pain is easily converted into anger. I lashed out, meaning my moves weren’t as calculated, meaning he was able to take the seconds to hit me with a Hulk arrow. Fuck you for that, by the way. I’m so getting you back for that.”

“I believe you, Taegan,” Clint replies and she flips him off.   
“BirdBoy, give me like twenty minutes and I’m going to kick the shit out of you,” she pouts at Doc, “Dr Banner, I’m so sorry that you get shot with those. They kill.”   
“It’s Bruce and the fact your alive proves they don’t,” he says and she smiles at him.

“Wait,” Rogers starts, turning to a still motionless James, “is that why you-“  
“-yes,” James interrupts, rubbing a hand down his face, “after the little phrase you said, some of my memories came back. It fucking hurt and I couldn’t not save my best pal.” 

“I didn’t think you could be triggered,” Clint asks her while Stark makes an off-hand comment about the Soldier’s history.   
She shrugs, relishes the burn in her shoulder. “Neither did I.”   
“I know you won’t remember what it was but any clue what language or what the mission was apart killing us?”   
“It was a set of numbers-“ she stops the thought as she reviews the conversation back in her head. The chip. 

“Doc? I mean, Bruce?” She asks the man and he turns to her.   
“Yes?”  
“Was there anything weird when you recovered me?”   
His eyebrows scrunch up. “Uh, your heart rate was spiked and your blood pressure was high but that’s what the arrow does before it shuts down the nervous system. We had a shot of adrenaline ready if you flatlined but it never happened, which was abnormal but I’m guessing your enhanced the same way Natasha is.”   
“Anything else?” She asks, contemplating the arrow.  
“Um, you had a tiny cut on your neck but it’s all healed now,” he replies. “It was probably arrow because it burns through tissue.”   
She nods. “Thanks, Bruce.” 

“What’re you thinking?” Natasha asks, crossing her arms over her chest.   
“Something about the triggering doesn’t make sense,” she replies before shrugging again, annoyed at the lack of ache. All healed then. “It doesn’t matter now, I suppose. All is said and done.”

“Well, now that’s over,” Rogers claps his hands together. “We have a job offer for you.”  
“A job offer,” she echoes, raising her eyebrows at him.   
“Yes. We want you to train us.”

•••

Each mistake was a lesson. The punishments were hard but she had steel in her bones, venom in her veins. 

She was a snake. She was not a ballerina, even if she knew the dance, even if she floated like the Widows, even if her feet were bleeding and bruised. She was not a girl, even if she pulled her hair into pigtails in Lisbon, even if she wore pink in Kansas, even if she had the features of a sixteen year old. She was not a wolf, even if she had sharpened canines, even if she had bloody claws, even if she roamed the world alone and an Alpha. She was a snake, cold-blooded, cunning and deadly. 

Crimson leaked from her mouth and nose and eyes and ears. She gurgled on it, spluttering as the guards and Handlers and doctors calmly regarded her. She spat it at their feet, baring her bloody teeth and leaving welts into the ground by her torn nails. 

“She’s drove herself mad,” they whispered.  
“She’s going to kill herself at this rate,” they whispered.  
“She’s the best but we cannot handle her,” they whispered. 

A cool hand slithered across her neck, like a python it tightened around her throat, cutting off her airways as she struggled. 

“The Graduation ceremony is necessary,” the serpent above her hissed, it’s tongue flicking shading her cheek. “You know the rules: become a breeder, a searcher, or a Viper. Do not disappoint me, child.” 

With a hiss, the python tightened and she heard her neck snap. 

•••

With a gasp, Taegan suddenly becomes a child again, trapped within the walls of the School. She shudders, her breath faltering and without conscious thought, the darkness spills out, searching for the threat. 

“Taegan,” Clint speaks as James stands, steps closer, “breathe for me? Can you do that?”  
A cold hand - metal, it has to be metal - touches her cheek and she wildly grabs at it. If it was flesh, she’d be breaking the bones with the force of her grip. 

“I can’t-“ her eyes droop as she hyperventilates, gasping for the breath that does not come. She’s transported to the freezing room in the School, water rushing over her head as she struggles behind the bag, screaming and howling and thrashing. She shivers and shudders and grips the hand harder. 

A face fills her vision, eyes as blue as the water suffocating her. Sharp cheekbones and slight scruff showing off a five o’clock shadow. Messy growing brunet hair. Pink lips forming words. 

“...hear me? Taegan?” She leans forward suddenly, aware of the group surrounding her and not giving a damn. James grabs her in his arms and steadies her, shifting so her ear is pressed to his chest. Even heart beats, soft and steady. She breaths in and out with him. 

“What?” She hears Sam ask as her senses filter back in slowly. It’s been years since her last panic attack. Literal years.  
“It’s not my place to say,” Natasha says and Taegan refuses to move but she does speak, shaky and definitely Marie trying to placate her husband. 

“In the School,” James arm’s tighten around her, “where I was raised, when I graduated, I trained the up and coming students. I made them into child soldiers, child killers. I did everything I despised my Handlers for.” 

Silence spreads around the room but she doesn’t focus of the group, she focuses on James, shuffles closer. It’s an awkward position but she doesn’t dare let go from where one hand is griping the back of his neck and the other white-knuckled on his Henley. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers suddenly and whether it’s the talk of training or the recent training that is sending her back to her childhood, she has no idea but she’s that scared little girl all over again. “I’m sorry for attacking you and I’m sorry for my Handler and I’m sorry for the Krakow base and I’m sorry for not being able to train you and I’m sorry-“

She’s shaking and James pulls back grips her face between his palms in a vice-like grip. She freezes as his eyes harden into ice.  
“Stop apologising,” he snaps in Russian and she instantly complies, teeth grinding together as she stares up at him. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You were triggered by a madman who is not your Handler. You do not have a Handler anymore, okay? So breathe because you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You have a choice, Taegan.”

He’s not her Handler. He’s James. He’s the man that was brainwashed by HYDRA. Still, her brain skips over the information almost carelessly because he has not given her a mission and he’s presenting himself like a Handler and-

She gives herself a mental slap. Right. Now is definitely not the time to show the Avengers her true colours. It would be too awkward for even her. So, she wills herself to remain standing and not to drop to her knees in front of him. She’s one of the best goddamn assassins there is and she has her own mind. 

She turns to the group. “I can’t train you. You’ve already had a taste of my ruthless behaviour and I have so many issues that one slip up,” she pauses, “one slip up and I could kill you. But, given the fact that it’s was a piss poor attempt to take me down, I’ll assist in training sessions because it was too easy.” 

Taegan pulls up Imogen, cocky and fun and reckless and grins at them. “I’m guessing none of you have even bothered to properly train the Maximoff’s considering their powers-“  
“-we have-“ Rogers tries and she snorts.  
“-sure. What if they have power inhibitors on? Hmm? What then?”   
“Power inhibitors?” Twin two asks and she raises an eyebrow at her.   
“You know, the device that normally goes around your neck or wrists that cuts off your abilities.” Everyone stares at her and she sighs.   
“Jesus Christ, for the Avengers, you’re literal idiots,” she drags a hand down her face. “Please tell me I’m not dealing with idiots.” 

“I’m a genius,” Stark jumps in, “just because I didn’t know about power inhibitors-“  
“-Oh,” she interrupts, sarcastically and continues knowing that she’s throwing away her secrets willingly. Shoot her, she’s bored. “Then you know about the three MI6 agents, five CIA agents and two ex-KGB currently within your bodyguard ranks? Obviously because the great Avengers would never hire anyone without checking their background records.” 

While the senior team gape, the Twins share a look. Natasha growls as Clint jumps up and yells, “wait, you mean that Darren and Chris- fuckers!”   
“I’m going to break their legs.”   
Taegan laughs at Natasha’s comment as she sits, James following with a raised eyebrow.   
“Do they have a little obsession with you, Tash?”

“FRIDAY,” Stark commands, “pull up the agents’ files.”  
“Yes, sir,” the Irish A.I. responds and upon the large coffee table, a holographic sheet rises, faces of every agent pops up.   
“Which ones?” Stark turns to Taegan and she doesn’t even have to look at them.   
“Mark Andrews. Richard Brook. Lizzie Johnson. Samatha Woods. Darren Taylor. Chris Matthews. Sophie Smith. Jonathon Pine. Chase Laurens. Clyde Armstrong.”   
“You know them all by name?” Sam asks, blowing out a breath as the screen filters off the names.   
“Knowledge is power and anyway, I personally know a couple.” Clint laughs at her. “What? They have good information. I’d watch it Birdboy, without Chris, I would’ve never known about you affliction with vents.” 

Natasha lets out another growl as Clint glares at the images. “Hey Cap, before we bring them in, can Nat and I have a little interrogation session?”  
“No killing,” he responds and Taegan realises why Clint follows Rogers orders. He likes him, respects him. She shares a glance with James. Two reckless blond idiots. 

“Speaking off,” she interrupts Stark’s rant into his phone, “can I have an interrogation session with Rumlow and Rollins?”   
“Why?” Rogers asks, eyeing her up.   
“Well,” she grins at James, “first of all, they messed with Jamie here. Second of all, we have some unfinished business. Third of all, they might have some information you’re going to like.”   
“Information?” Stark echoes, pocketing the phone. “Just tell us now if you know.”   
“Doesn’t work like that, munchkin. I haven’t survived this long by telling everyone everything I know all at once.” 

She looks at Natasha because it’s clear none of the other trust her. “They don’t know any of my triggers, swear it. Even in this state, I know whatever tactics you’ve used haven’t worked. They’ll talk to me. You know why? Because I’m on that border between hero and villain.” She pushes herself up with puppy dog eyes and pout. “Please, Nattie.” 

Savagely pointing a finger at her, Natasha hisses, “I’m only doing this because you’re right not because you’re cute.” Then, with the flair of a dancer, she spins around and walks down the corridor, calling, “c’mon then. It’s rude to keep them waiting.”


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions brief details of a rape situation without explicit rape details, if this is triggering, don’t read the paragraphs in italics. 
> 
> Also mentions torture at the end without the actual torture. 
> 
> Enjoy guys.

“Did you know that you’ve produced some of the greatest fighters of the younger generation?” Headmistress asked, eyes fixated on the boys and girls sparring together. It was silent apart from the occasional grunt or slam of a body into the wooden floor. “The rate of breeders and searchers has decreased since you became a trainer. Do you know why?”

The woman beside her raised an eyebrow, shrugging her shoulders in a play of confusion. “No, Miss, I don’t.”   
“Don’t play coy, Alice.” Headmistress commanded. “Tell me why.”   
She paused, staring straight at a little girl easily flipping one of the boys in a tiny act of defiance. “They like me. They think I’m their friend.”   
“And are you? Are you their friend?” 

The little girl, Athena, slammed the boy into the ground again. He laid, unmoving but even from the corner of the room, the woman could see him breathing. 

“There are no friendships in this place,” she responded in a monotone voice, “it is simply a means to an end. Unlike the other trainers, I give them more praise than punishment. It builds trust in them.”   
“It’s smart,” Headmistress replied. “Don’t sell yourself short, though I do appreciate the humility of it.”

Athena stared as the boy, Stephen, slowly struggled to his feet. Once again, they sparred but this time, Stephen knew to dodge and block some of Athena’s more potent attacks. 

“Are they the best?” Headmistress enquired after a moment of silence.  
“Yes, Miss. Athena is top of her class in hand-to-hand and second in academics. I may or may not have given her extra assistance when it comes to Russian.” The woman replied and Headmistress sent her a smile. “Stephen is top of his class at the range and first in academics. I hope that pairing them together will mean they’ll share tips to each other and learn the others mistakes.”

“I can see that it’s already working,” Headmistress remarked. Her hand raised an squeezed the woman’s shoulder. “Keep up the good work, Alice. After the annual process, I’ll let you skip next year for a couple of missions. Briefing will be soon so that you have time to prepare.” She paused, scanned Athena and then leaned in. “One of them involves a Widow, it may not state to kill her in your briefing but if you can confirm her death, a vacation is in it for you.” 

With another squeeze, she left the room and the woman continued to stare at the fighting children. 

She didn’t realise how far she was in her head until a snap echoed through the dance hall. Turning, she watched a boy, smaller than most of the girls but fast, Richard, was holding his wrist. The other boy, John, was grinning at his victory but at the look of annoyance on the woman’s face, he paled considerably. She valued praise over punishment but she never did pack her punches. 

“It’s fine, Miss, I swear!” Richard squeaked. She knelt down and held out her hands, he quickly dropped his wrist in them. It was definitely broken.   
“Go to Medical, get a brace,” taking in his horrified expression, she rubbed a hand down his hair, “John will bring you some food, won’t you John?”  
“Yes, Miss.” He hung his head.   
“Ladies and Gentlmen, as much as I love your enthusiasm, please refrain from breaks. You know how hard they are to fix and the annual process is coming up in three weeks time. We wouldn’t want you out of commission then. Why is that?”  
“Because,” they said in unison, “we would be out of commission forever.”   
“Very good,” she praised. “Now off to the dining hall.” 

•••

Home. That’s the first thought that crosses her mind as Bruce removes the IV and Stark leads her to a studio suite, curtesy of himself. 

“You could have had a floor but none of the others wanted one...” he tells her and she smiles and nods because of course he’d want to spend his money on lavish suites. And boy is it lavish. 

All of them, bar Stark because penthouse, house on a communal floor. A large living room sits the centre, a kitchenette on one side, a mini training area on the other. The far wall is floor to ceiling glass and the other walls separate off to rooms. 

To say it’s too much would be an understatement. It’s modern, with blacks and whites and a slash of red - “Romanoff said you liked red, so while you were fighting off death, Pepper had a couple designers drop by”. A circle of couches surround a coffee table and face a fire place with a flat screen above it. A kitchenette lines the opposite wall and leads into a breakfast bar. There, an entire wall is bookshelf - “Barton said you liked to read” - and it separates the room in a subtle way. Her bed is a large king sized, fit with grey sheets, metallic bed frame and red throw. From her bed, she can see the entirety of the New York Skyline. Beside her bed, two doors sit: walk in wardrobe and bathroom. 

For a moment, she sits and stares. It’s dark out now, the grape sky fading into a burst of colours. It’s beautiful and messy and she feels the need to sprawl it down in a poetry book. Life, she would write, life is like the sunset, a kaleidoscope of colour, bursting and tearing at the seams, spilling messily but beautifully. 

She hears her door open, hears the tenor of James’ voice echoing through the silence to tell FRIDAY that she wants a flash and a voice to tell her when someone’s there. She doesn’t acknowledge his presence, even as he approaches and sits beside her. Far enough that he could run if she lunged for him. Close enough that he would make it to the floor before she slit his throat. 

“They let you have knives in your boots,” she speaks before he can, refusing to look at him. He’s like the sunset, messy and beautiful in a haphazard way. Dark soul, warm heart, colourful brain, stained hands.   
“Yes,” he answers even though they both know it wasn’t a question. “Steve thinks it’ll make me calmer.”  
“You don’t agree,” she replies, desperately wanting to cling to him and push him away all at once. She is a Viper. A goddamn Viper. She will not cry. Not here, not in front of him.

He hums noncommittally. “I won’t patronise you by asking how you’re doing but I will ask if I can do anything.”  
Leave, the voice inside whispers. “Stay,” she says anyway, voice inside be damned. “Just for a minute.”

They sit there, far apart and closer than ever while her thoughts detangle. She allows the voices to dissolve, to become white noise. Dissociation is never a good state to be in but sometimes, it’s safer. Sometimes, she’s left with the puzzle pieces hidden and bent and destroyed with no possible solution to solve it. Sometimes, to rebuilt, you must first destroy. 

Quietly, she makes a list. She needs a shower, her body is healing and sweaty and she probably smells. There, with the cascading water healing what she cannot, she will break. It will be painful. Reliving long buried memories is but keeping it inside will push her into Nyx territory, into unpredictable, mindless killer. She can’t hurt this family again.

“How long,” he asks quietly, after a moment, “has it been since you were last triggered?”   
She tilts her head in his direction, still not looking but finally acknowledging, and contemplates her answer as the painted sky fades to black, the city lighting up in the sun’s absence. 

She clears her throat. “My partner and I were getting too close. That’s what they told us anyway. After a mission, we were dragged into one of the interrogation rooms, chained to opposite walls. They placed a knife in the middle of the room and triggered us with one mission objective: kill the other.”  
“Did you kill them?”

She shakes her head, remembers Zander’s bloodshot eyes and large hands. Nicknamed the Beast was not exactly subtle but while she took the time to pick the lock on the chains, he simply broke them. He lunged for the blade, she picked the lock just in time to dodge the attack. The dagger impaled in the wall where her head was. He was strong. She was fast. A perfect team really but she’d always been the best. Minutes later, she had him on his back, knife drawing blood from his throat.

“Got pretty damn close before they detriggered us.” She feels the smile pull at her lips, thinking about Zander before she can stop herself.  
James catches it as she tugs it away. “Are they still alive?”  
She nods. “Last I heard, he was in Brazil.” 

Turning to him, she studies his tired face. His chestnut hair is pulled into a top bun and he blue eyes watch her cautiously. It’s a look between Bruce and Natasha’s. Concerned, slightly tense but not prepared, not anticipating an attack. Without thought, she eyes his exposed neck. 

“I understand,” she starts, flicking through her covers, trying to find one which will fit what she’s about to say. Naomi. Clare. Emilia. Oksana. Lula. Veronica. Too harsh or too soft. So, she settles are Michelle, calm and detached but compassionate like her nursing job requires. She resists the urge to use Michelle’s Liverpudlian accent. “I understand if you don’t want to be around me. I wouldn’t. I’ve been helping you for two years now and I’ve done everything I can to help you. I never wanted you to see this version of me-“

“Hold up,” he interrupts, turning his body to face her. “What’re you blabbering on about?”   
She runs a hand through her purple hair, his stony eyes track the movement. “I’m dangerous, I nearly killed you all.”  
“Taegan-“ he tries and she darts up, stepping away from him, shaking her head frantically.

“Stop, please, stop.” Vipers do not whimper. Vipers do not beg. Vipers do not plead. She hangs her head and turns from him, even though she can spot him in her peripheral. Just how she was taught: leave them thinking you are vulnerable. Leave them forgetting you are a child bred from war and burned with the fire of blood. 

With a soft thud, she rests her head against the cool glass and shuts her eyes, distinctly away of the stillness in James’ shoulders. 

“When I rescued you,” she starts, not giving a damn that despite the lack of bugs in the room, FRIDAY is probably recording them. “I tried so hard to keep her from you. I knew that it would only be a matter of time but I thought we’d have longer.

“I am not a good person, James, and I’ve tried so fucking hard to pretend to be, to try and show you the after to your before but I can’t anymore.” She pauses allows Michelle to remove the tears and possible wavers from her voice. “I’ve tried to be a stable presence and I know it’s worked. You’ve improved so much and I’m proud as hell but I can’t do that anymore. Not after today. Not when you saw what I am.” 

“Have you ever lied to me?” He asks so suddenly, in such a cold voice, her eyes snap open and she spins.  
“No. Never. I wouldn’t do that to you.”  
“But your past-?”  
She wills herself to stay still as he stands and stalks forward. “I answered all of your questions honestly but we had a deal at the start, remember? If we didn’t want to answer for whatever reason, we don’t answer, we’re under no obligation.” 

With delicate but calloused hands, he grips her cheeks. It’s soft and she knows he’s being careful in case the touch triggers her. The ice thaws from his eyes and his lips quirk upwards. 

“You, Taegan Smith, are a fucking idiot.” Immediately she recoils, anger burning Michelle away but he grips tighter, smiling so bright he glows. “Play the ‘I’m a dangerous assassin’ shtick all you want but it’s highly unbelievable when the reason you’re playing it is because youre being selfless and compassionate.”  
“Those are some big words,” she whispers. “Sure you know what they mean?” 

“D’you?” He leans in closer, crowding her in a way that feels more warm and comforting than she’d like to admit. Ever. She’d take every punishment the School could concoct to rid herself of that feeling. “Because you’re brilliant, Taegan. You were the first person to make me feel like a fucking human being. I never once felt a risk around you, you made me feel safe. Even after you held a gun to my head and introduced me to your creepy assassin pals and told me as much of your past as you’d let me hear.” 

His forehead dips onto hers and only then does she realise her eyes have closed. She breathes him in, feeling more relaxed than ever. 

“I don’t think I would’ve recovered if it wasn’t for you.”  
“Hey,” she protests quietly, afraid of breaking the moment, “you do most of it yourself. I just got you some new identities and the shit out of your head.”   
He snorts, blowing air onto her face. “Always selling yourself short, doll. I guess I’m going to have to remind you why you’re such a wonderful woman, aren’t I?”  
She sniffles. “What about my massive ego?”  
“I think that’s the least of our concerns, don’t you?” He laughs and her resistance falls through her fingers like sand. Surging forward, she ducks under his hands and shoves her face into his neck, wrapping her arms tightly around his torso. He quickly reciprocates, squeezing both metal and flesh arms into her back, pressing her into his chest. 

She grips at his shirt, breathing him in. For a moment, she allows herself the possibility that she deserves this. James Buchanan Barnes: her broken, beautiful boy. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs into his chest and his right hand lifts to drag through her hair. “Don’t call me an idiot again, okay? I’ll start calling you Elsa or Frosty.”   
His laughter shakes through her. “I can deal with Frosty.”  
She pulls back, fits him with a serious look. “I’ll tell Steve about the Ben ‘n’ Jerry’s incident.”  
“You wouldn’t,” he hisses and she grins.   
“Don’t push me, Elsa.” 

She pulls away fully, extracting herself from her koala hold carefully. “Right,” she clasps her hands. “I need a shower. Do you think Nat would let me borrow some of her spare hair dye?”  
“I like the purple,” he groans, lifting his right hand to tug at it affectionately. When she fits him with a dim glare, he barrels on, “plus, don’t they know you as your assassin alter ego-“  
“-Nyx-“ she adds as he ponders her name.  
“-Yeah, Nyx. They’ll be scared shitless.” He raises an eyebrow. “Wait. Why Nyx?”   
“Greek Goddess of the Night. Even Zeus, the big hotshot, was terrified of her.”

He nods. “They let you have a Goddess’s name? I thought you were taught not to believe in that crap.”  
“One of the mutants gave it to me. After.” She replies, seeing Charles’ grin as the younger years debated over it. Logan kept grumbling and Erik kept arguing with anyone that said anything less than kind. 

She heads towards where the bathroom is, picking up her bag Nat dropped in. Inside, her clothes, products and phone still remain. Unfortunately, none of her weapons do. 

“Taegan?” James calls and she turns, clothes in hand.   
“Hmm. What?”   
“You’re my rock. I can be that for you too, you know that right? You don’t have to do this alone, it’s not how this works.” She wants to argue with him, she really does but he’s open and vulnerable and her friend. Her best friend. Someone that never fails to make her feel safe or happy.   
“I’ll hold you to that, Elsa.”

Shutting the door, she strips from her under armour, sports bra and pants. Depositing them into a pile, she steps into the shower, turning the heat up as far as possible, her thoughts silent. 

Hot water scolds her back and she presses her head against the wall, feeling her muscles relax and tense. For a moment, she relishes in the oxygen entering her lungs. She’s alive. They’re alive. No one died. Not today, not by her hand. 

As her skin registers the burn and becomes accustomed to the heat, the flash of memories spike. It always happens, after a mission, after a triggering. Horrible thoughts slowly filling her brain. She starts to wash, not realising the red skin she leaves behind with every harsh rub. 

“Roman-“  
“Be a good girl,” harsh hands dig into her hips, pushing her against the desk, smoke-filled breath spilling over her hair, “we don’t want another incident, do we?”

She shakes, slipping to the tub’s floor and curling in on her self, trying to carve a hole into her ribs. The blackness rattles, wide awake and burning alive from her fear.   
Calmly, she recites, “Agent Taegan Smith. Twenty-five. Strike Team Delta.” 

Chapped lips spread into a yellow-tooth smirk. “Would you do anything to please me?”  
She resists the urge to shiver. “Yes, sir.” 

“Agent Taegan Smith. Twenty-five. Strike Team Delta.” 

“I don’t know why he never touched such a flower, wasted chance if you ask me. Tell me.”  
He bites her neck. Bites her collarbones. Bites her chest. She stares at the pile of her ripped clothes by the desk from against the wall. “I would do anything for you, Roman.”   
“Again.”   
Her arms and hands and fingers are numb from the rope. His fingernails tear angry red lines into her thighs. It stings and burns. She arches into it. “I would do anything for you, Roman.” 

“Agent-“ she chokes on her sobs. The hot water burns her head and face as the last of the hair dye pools around her feet. “Agent-“

“Tell me the secret.” She proudly wears her torn outfit, titling her head in the way she knows he enjoys staring at his marks.  
“I love you, sir.”  
He groans, she hides her satisfaction behind a curtain of hair. “Good girl.”

“Taegan?” James voice spills from outside the locked door. She doesn’t remember locking it. “Everything okay in there, doll?”   
She opens her mouth, prepared to reply in a steady voice about yes, she’s okay, just enjoying the warmth when her vision swims. 

Mina was dead. Anya wasn’t. Zander wasn’t. Richard and Carl and Eleanor were gone. Jonathon and Simone and Kiera were alive. She stares at the burnt remains, rain sending her waves into tighter curls. They’re corpses were grossly disfigured, all burnt or half-burnt, with confused expressions painted against their red, sizzling flesh. Confused as to why the building was burning. Confused as to why their Handlers weren’t telling them to run. Confused because burning was one of the worst ways to go. She can’t stop staring-

Freezing cold water splatters across her face and she jolts, jumping out of the shower and shivering. Somehow, she had risen from her shaking ball and turned the knob into cold.  
“Taegan!?” James shouts, knocking ferociously, almost breaking the door. “FRIDAY?”

“James,” she says, grabs a towel and pulls it around her body, unlocking the door. His face splits into relief as he scans her. “I’m okay, Jesus. Got lost into my own head and then you’re out here, three seconds away from bursting my door down.”  
He rubs a hand across his neck, face sheepish. “You weren’t answering. I thought- I don’t really know what I was thinking, actually. M’sorry.” 

She smiles at him and doesn’t know how real it is. “It’s okay, you moron. I’m okay, see? Now, I’m going to put some clothes on and you can stand out here and guard my door, if you’d like.”  
His ears turn red and blush crawls up his neck. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.” He clears his throat, staring over her head. “I’ll be, um, out here.”  
“You do that, Jim Jam.”

Shutting the door, she rests her head against the door, breathing in and out deeply. Maybe she isn’t an Agent, no matter how many times Phil and Nick tried to convince her. She’s definitely not twenty-five considering she’s pretty sure she was born in the early twentieth century. But she was apart of Strike Team Delta, the first group after the mutants to respect her, made up of a deaf, depressed archer and a gorgeous Russian assassin. 

Carefully, she peels the lid off of her box, allowing the darkness the spill out. It’s cautious, wary of her new mood but it follows her orders easily. She watches her veins turn black, her skin dying papery white. 

It dances out of her fingertips, swirling around her and for a second, she allows a genuine, menaingful smile leave her lips. The darkness is dangerous, powerful and unpredictable but ever since it made a home in her skin, breathed the same air, lived as her, it’s never once disappointed her. 

“We’re going to be okay, bud,” she whispers, feeling it caress over her skin, soothing her crazy brain. “Just, stay for a minute.” It tightens against her and she laughs a little wetly, emotions freely pouring out of her like the darkness. “Thank you. For everything. I- I don’t thank you enough.” 

While she changes, blow dries her hair and pulls it into a ponytail, the darkness coils low in her stomach, hugs her brain into silence. As she stares in the mirror, for once, she recognises the person staring back. 

“Taegan Smith,” she starts, curly galaxy hair brushing against her shoulders, hazel eyes wide and alert, features rounded and smooth, gap between her two front teeth, birthmark spot on her neck, serpent tattoo behind her right ear barely visible. “Taegan Smith. Pushing seventies. Assassin. Mercenary. Mutant. Trainee Avenger. Make me proud, you sexy beast.” The darkness flares up and she laughs. “Too much? Nah. I liked it. I - I’m okay with me. I’m going to be okay.” 

She stares at her reflection for a second longer. “My name is Taegan Smith and I’m going to be okay.”

•••

The snow was crimson and the wolf moaned agasint the cold. He could not move, he could not growl, he could not live. The snake, cold-blooded, full from the last wolf, fangs dripping it’s poor, thick blood, slithered closer, surveying. 

“How do you expect to live, when you do not know death?” The python hissed, always watching, always far away. 

“I know death,” the snake hissed back, jaw unhinging, fangs ripping venom into the wolf, “intimately.”

The python curled around a ballerina covered in a red cloak, her porcelain features frozen and terrified. 

“What do we do when meeting death?” It hissed and the snake coiled, swallowing the moaning wolf whole, striking and biting and gripping the ballerina’s trip-wire thin leg, positioned en pointe, even as the venom burned through her pumping veins, even as she tilted to fall and spin and pirouette, even as time stopped. 

The little girl stood, staring at the crimson caked snow, wondering why she dreamed in Russian, why she dreamed in fairy tales, why she dreamed she was in one. 

“We greet death like an old friend.” 

•••

Sitting across from Jack Rollins, Taegan sips her tea and allows him to scan over her. The Avengers moved the pair into separate interrogation rooms while she showered. She still feels weak but considering the bruises and cuts littered across Rollins face from her previous assault, she feels much better. 

His blue eyes settle on her purple hair, a frown pulling at his lips. She can see right through his act of playing dumb and remaining silent. Rogers told her explicitly not to torture him but this is sweet torture in it’s self. A figure, tangible and close but refusing to acknowledge the others presence. Worryingly enough, she’s missed this.

“I thought it was you,” he mutters, shifting in his seat and dropping his eyes. “Can’t believe we didn’t notice until we were staring up at Rogers.”   
“It’s a talent.” She sips at her tea again before placing it on the edge of the table, considers her next question carefully. The silence stretches. “How’re they treating you?” 

In all honesty, she likes both Rumlow and Rollins. They were damn good fighters and mushy, loveable men underneath their tough exteriors. When the Triskellion fell and she found out they were HYDRA, she wasn’t exactly shocked. To consider the men that treated her as human as Nazis, stung and as much as she’d love to offer them a chance a redemption, she doesn’t know how far her bonds with the Avengers stretch. The darkness seems to laugh at the plan forming in her head.

“Three meals a day, a bed and toilet,” he grins, playing unruffled. “What else could a man ask for?”   
“Warmth, comfort, a friend,” she lists off, watching as his eyes snap to her. The cocky smirk slithers onto her lips and she makes no movement to remove it. He forgets she was taught the art of interrogation, the art of manipulation, the art of surviving in a world so against her. 

“Is that’s why you’re here, a friend?” He narrows his eyes. Got you. “I thought you were more of the bad cop than the good cop.”  
She laughs, leans back and tilts her body so that her legs spill onto the table. “Honey, the Avengers are right outside, I can’t torture you. And anyway, I’ve known you long enough to know that it would take a while before you broke and the guys outside would not appreciate my messy methods.” 

She remembers when Clint had been kidnapped on a mission once, Natasha had been informed but was half-way across the world. Taegan had only done what was necessary and by the time S.H.I.E.L.D. picked up the body, most of the agents had thrown up at the sight of the corpse. It’s probably a bad thing that she giggled at their horror, but hey, she’s a bad person. She’s allowed to laugh at weakness and death. 

“So why are you here?” He asks and she shifts so her hands hide within the confines of the Captain America hoodie Natasha handed to her.   
“When I first recovered you,” she starts instead, knowing exactly what route she’s taking with him, “I was going to tear you limb from limb. No one likes Nazis. Then, if you survived, I was going to pass you two along to a couple of friends of mine and watch the mess they would make with your body.”  
He pales slightly, freezing in a way that shows he’s trying to hide his body’s reactions. The predator inside stirs, the darkness waiting in anticipation. “But you’re not going to do that now?”   
“Nah,” she shakes her head, amused at the way his shoulders relax, “I’m still planning on beating the living shit out of you for a very long time but that isn’t my plan anymore.” 

He raises his eyebrows at her and she quirks her lip, lets the silence drag and stretch as she makes the point of scanning him. Cargo pants and a tight black top, pulled taunt over his muscles, wrists handcuffed to the table. She drops her feet and leans closer, eyes roaming over the scar from his eyebrow to lip, smirks at his gulp. Quickly she hums, “I’ve heard about that cat of yours. It’d be a shame if anything happened to her. She’s cute.” 

For a second, he raises his eyebrows in confusion, obviously lost. She waits him out, thoroughly enjoying the realisation slapping him in the face. Jury’s out, she’s insane. His muscles lock and the cuffs rattle against his wrists.   
“You hurt her, I swear to God-“  
“-now, now, Jack,” she soothes, rolling her eyes. Falling back on her training, her hands fall atop his, rubbing small circles into his skin. He freezes and seems to be debating whether to flinch to allow her to continue. It’s kind of adorable. “I’m a cruel woman but I’d never kill a cat. Jesus, I’m not that much of a monster.”   
“What?” He stares at her, vulnerable and open and she forgets how easy manipulation is. 

She lets him sit, tapping his wrist in time with her own, calm heartbeat before she opens her mouth, “never knew you had a pet until recently. Dug up some dirt on both of you in case you weren’t truly dead. How you hid the house from S.H.I.E.L.D. I have no idea but then, I suppose we all had secrets no one knew about.”   
“You know that more than most,” he replies and she rolls her eyes.   
“Yeah, I suppose I do.”

When he finally meets her eyes, she continues, “What I’m trying to say is that if i was able to find out, others are going to follow. I swear to you, unless it’s for safety reasons, I’m never going near the house but can you trust the people looking after it? Can you? It took me a month to find the house, and not to blow my own trumpet but I’m smarter than most so I bet it’ll be a couple of years before anyone else finds it.”  
“I’m HYDRA, no one would-“ he says and she scoffs.  
“Don’t belittle yourself, Jack. Most of the criminal community has seen you come here, so you know what they’re going to think. HYDRA agents spill secrets to Avengers. They’ll be looking for any compensation thus-“  
“-stop,” he hisses, his shoulders dropping. She pauses, closing her mouth and leaning back, waiting. 

She picks up her tea and finishes the cooling liquid quickly. He probably doesn’t deserve redemption, she certainly didn’t but Charles Xavier gave her a chance, so did Nick. Jack is a bad guy but she’s the definition of worse and here they are. 

“What do you want?” He asks quietly, staring at his cuffs.  
“You tell us all of HYDRA’s secrets, bases, agents anything. Do a couple of odd jobs for them, the STRIKE teams were always good. In return, you’ll be allowed to go home, safety precautions in place and be painted as a secret agent for S.H.I.E.L.D. all along.”   
“That’s it?” He asks, mouth agape. “After everything I’ve done, that’s how easy it will be?” 

She stands, giving him a tiny smile. “Do you remember when Fury shoved me in Alpha? I was a crazy assassin, everyone was scared shitless of me and I was terribly lonely. Then I got placed with some of the hardest bastards I’d ever known. I thought that was Fury’s plan at the start, to beat me to submission. It wouldn’t have been new to me and yet, when I stepped in to the training ring, you guys immediately threw me a party. You started handing out my weapons while Rumlow commented-“  
“-‘we’d be a pretty shit team if we didn’t trust the members so here’s me holding out an Olive branch’,” he interrupted, smiling softly at the memories, his eyes glazed over. “I remember.”

“You were the first people, outside of the guys who rescued me, to trust me,” she shrugged. “Or at least trusted me not to kill you. In this business, that goes a long way.” She turns to the door, cup in hand and smile dropping. “I won’t ever trust you again, Jack. I won’t help you or save you again. If you go against this deal, I will become a living nightmare. But,” she pauses, stares at him with an intensity that has him dropping his eyes at the implication that she did, once, trust him, “but you deserve a second chance. Many people have given me one and I owe them so much. I won’t hurt her, ever, you have my word. If you want, I’ll hunt her down and give her proper security but like I’ve said before, you so much as look the wrong way and I’ll let them have the first swings but by the time I’m done with you, they’ll be nothing left. On that, you have my word. Don’t fuck this up, Rollins.” 

She opens the door and walks out, meeting Natasha’s eyes as Rogers asks, “first, when did we agree to that? Second, what makes you think he’ll agree to that?”  
“Go in, Cap, see for yourself.” She shrugs, gives him a cocky grin. “Let’s just say I have many talents.” He rolls his eyes and Natasha scoffs but he enters the room.

“Why him first?” Wilson asks, watching Steve sit down opposite Rollins through the two-way mirror.   
“Rumlow will more likely be in favour if Rollins is,” Clint replies for her, atop the conference table. “Good work, Tea. Can I-“  
“-Yes,” Natasha replies, grinning at him with her shark smile, “if he fucks up, you can poke his eyes out with your arrows.”  
“Yay!” He squeals and Wilson shudders.  
“You people are terrifying.”  
“Thank you,” they reply simultaneously earning another shudder from Wilson. 

Rogers appears a minute later with wide eyes. “How-“  
She grins, grabs the cup out of Clint’s hand and swallows a gulp of cold coffee. “I’m brilliant, I know. You’re very welcome. Now, let’s get Rumlow.” 

On first sights of her swinging the door open and sprawling in the chair, he belly laughs. The intense stare directed at the table fades as crinkles form at the side of his eyes as his lips spread to laugh, revealing white teeth beneath. 

“Fucking hell,” he grins, scarred face boosting her ego again. “Looks like the Avengers won big.”   
“What can I say,” she grins back but it’s anything but pretty. It’s her shark grin, her I’m-going-to-rip-you-apart grin. He stills at the sight of it. One predator acknowledging the deadlier one. “It’s good to see you too, Brock. How’s the neck?”  
She can see him resist the urge to crack it. “Healed.”   
“Shame,” she blows out a breath, “I think you’d have suited a broken one.” 

“Those weren’t you orders,” he tries. It’s sweet and if she were anyone else, her perfect mask might’ve cracked but she’s had years of practicing her flawless facades. Unfortunately, she’s winning this round.   
“True, but then again, you were the Commander for the Soldier. Maybe Captain Rogers won’t mind if my hands accidentally slip.” 

He stares at her and she stares back. Dark brown, practically black meet light hazel ones. “I think you know why I’m here.”  
“To cut a deal?”   
She nods, crossing her legs. “Option one, join the Avengers briefly. Tell HYDRA secrets, bases, anything you know. Complete a couple of odd jobs. If you follow through, you get a nice warm bed and a home and the world believes you were a S.H.I.E.L.D. spy all along.”   
“If I don’t?” He asks because of course he’d ask. Rumlow always likes to be difficult.   
She simply sighs. “I show you the true meaning of pain.” 

“That’s going to be quiet hard, sweetheart,” he murmurs, eyes rolling and tongue picking out from his lips. “I know what you’re capable of but I haven’t felt pain in a long time.”   
“Why, because HYDRA enhanced you?” He doesn’t flinch at the question but he doesn’t have to. The twitch in his lip, the tremor in his hand, the hardening of the eyes. She already knows. “I’m aware of the process, sweetheart, intimately. I’ll prove to you that pain can be inflicted in a multitude of ways.” 

Once again they stare at each other, trying to find weaknesses. He finds none, she’s like a blank slate. She finds a plethora. Normally, she would exploit every single one of them, watch him squirm and shiver and scream but the Avengers are watching. She needs to prove she can be good.

“Option two,” she continues after a long stretch of silence, “I let them follow the plan they’ve had since I infiltrated the base. Lend you to any prison, always moving from one to the other. Of course, now I’m here, I’ll update all those who reside inside. I have a lot of friends in high places. Every prison you arrive at, they will starve you and beat you and leave you for dead. Your enhancements will keep you alive, barely, and the process with continue for as long as you live. Which, if the enhancements are anything like I’ve read, will be a very, very long time.”

He leans back as far as the cuffs on the table with let him. “Threatening me to join your little superhero family?”   
The smile she gives him is threatening. “I do not have a family. But if you want to call a choice between a really nice option and a really shit option ‘threatening’ then fine.” 

“Who would’ve thought Nyx took orders,” he laughs, leaning forward now. His play is so obvious it hurts more than the verbal commentary. Trying to disarm her by her title, pathetic. “The infamous White Viper. HYDRA wanted you, you know? They were happy with either you, the Asset, or the Black Widow. She was always hung up on Barton and you were always toeing the line. He was the easy option really.” 

Slowly, very slowly, she shifts closer. So he wants to play dirty. Two can play at that game. “Do you want to know a secret?” She asks, faces millimetres away and she briefly wonders if going to sit on his lap would send the cavalry in. He nods, eyes blown wide and lips parted. Easy, easy, easy. 

“When I met you, I saw you as a Handler: cold and harsh and battered. I feared and worshipped the ground you walked upon.” He watches her lips move and she leans closer, her breath blowing across his scarred face. “It wasn’t until Kazakhstan, when you ran into that burning building to save those children, telling the rest of us to stay put even though you knew I would heal faster than you, that I realised you weren’t a Handler. No, you were a good man. A bastard, through and through, with a shitty past of drugged up parents and pickpocketing to live, but a good man.” 

“Kazakhstan was our first mission together,” he breathes as she stands, shaking himself as she places distance between them. “You trusted me then?”  
“Yes,” she nods. “I did, you proved yourself. Now, I don’t and I’ll tell you what I told Jack, I never will. You fuck this up, I’ll show you every single way my past broke me, I’ll show you why the ghosts and the shadows fear me. But you deserve a second chance.”   
“Rollins is siding with you?” He spits and she rolls her eyes.   
“Yes, do you want to know why? Because he wants to go home.” She looks at him, at his worn out features. “Don’t you want to go home, Brock?”  
“I don’t have a home.”   
She smiles, warm and friendly. “You could.”

Floating to the door she turns to face him. “I have lived as a tool, a weapon produced to fight in a war I never even knew about. My entire life, I have entertained those who think I am simply a toy to be used and abused and thrown away. Don’t get me wrong, the Avengers are a dysfunctional mess that I’ve only glimpsed into but I’ve built my own family. They don’t share my blood and a couple don’t share my views but I trust them and I care about them and-“ she pauses, shakes her head. “If I found out they were hurt in any way, I would hunt down the idiots and rip them to shreds. Family isn’t about blood or views, Brock, it’s about trust and love. You’re past doesn’t define you.” 

For a moment they go back to staring at each other. “Option one or option two? I won’t ask again.”  
He sighs, tilts his head in her direction. “Has anyone ever told you that your a persuasive little shit?”  
A laugh bubbles up in her throat. “Yeah, Barton.”   
He groans. “The day I become Barton is the day I accept defeat.” 

Even from inside the room, they’re both able to hear the distant ‘Hey!’ from the adjacent room. She laughs and blows a kiss into the obvious two-way mirror. She was planning on ignoring or insulting him but she can’t hurt Clint, she likes him too much.

“You really are enhanced, aren’t you?” He quietly asks, watching her reactions closely.   
“Yeah, if you go with option one, I’ll tell you about it.”   
For a moment, she thinks he isn’t going to go with the option, his eyes shutting down but he smiles, open and genuine and wolffish. 

“Fine. Option one. Send the good Captain in before I change my mind.”   
“Do I even-“ she stops, shakes her head. “Have fun, Brock.” 

She leaves, nods to Natasha as Rogers walks in. Rollins sits at the table, Clint still sprawled atop it but he wears no cuffs. He has a smile printed on his face and she raises an eyebrow at him as Clint charges forward, finger held up threateningly. 

“How dare you! Being me is the best thing you can be,” he says and she places a gentle hand at his shoulder.  
“Sure, buddy. Sure.” She turns her head just in time to see Brock walk into the room with Rogers following close behind. 

Natasha steps forward to stand at Taegan’s shoulder and Taegan can already feel the deadly smile blossoming, knowing exactly what Natasha’s about to do. 

“Where do you start?” Natasha begins, spreading her lips into a smirk that threatens pain and bloodshed and war. “Because I always start at the fingernails but I’ve heard you have different methods.”  
“Aw,” she pretends to think about it, tapping a finger to her chin, “fingernails are good but I do like a good broken bone. First the toes and then the fingers.”  
Clint steps up at her other shoulder. “What about if there isn’t much time?”  
Simultaneously, they both say, “ankles.” 

“Ankles?” Rogers asks, paling as Wilson mutters, “utterly terrifying.”   
“Yes,” James mutters, stepping next to Natasha, moving from the shadows. “Slowly peel upwards. You can dip them in lemon for a better sting.”  
“Or acid,” Natasha adds and Taegan shakes her head.  
“I mean you could but it sizzles the nerves.” 

“And here is where you tell everyone that you don’t like peeling from the fingers,” Natasha snaps and Taegan spins.   
“Hey! Shattering the bone adds enough pain-“   
“-but it’s messy,” Natasha interrupts and they glare at each other.  
“Are they-“ Wilson shifts uncomfortably agasint the wall. “Please tell me they’re not arguing over torture methods.”  
“We’re already frightened of you two,” Rollins mutters but the women don’t turn. 

“Fine,” Taegan sighs, glare still evident. “Peel the skin-“  
“-then shatter the bone,” Natasha finishes.   
“Chemicals in the eyes?”  
“Painful but they loose their use pretty quickly.”   
“Fair point, what about-“  
“-enough,” Rogers speaks, voice raising slightly. “I want to sleep tonight.” 

“This isn’t over, Romanova,” Taegan mutters, flare intensifying.   
“I’m better at torture than you, Smith,” Natasha snarks, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s like hacking-“  
“-see what I mean? Cocky!” 

“Who wants Pizza?” Clint shoves himself between the women, nudging Natasha towards the door. “I want pizza. Let’s go get pizza. Hmm, lovely, mouthwatering deliciousness. Cap, Sam, pizza? Rollins, Rumlow, pizza? Yeah, cool. Pizza. Let’s go. Now.”


End file.
